


Miscellaneous

by h_lovely



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Boyfriends, Drabble Collection, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Kissing, M/M, Meddlesome Roommates, Mild Smut, Volleyball
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-06-07 21:26:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 22,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6824938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/h_lovely/pseuds/h_lovely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of requested drabbles including but not limited to: Fluffy, lovesick Kuroken, Harry Potter enthusiast Suga, ultra charming Daichi, snarky and oblivious Matsuhana, and endearingly drunk Asahi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kuroken: 48. "My parents are coming over in ten minutes so please put some clothes on."

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing: Kuroken, minor Daisuga, implied Bokuaka, implied Asanoya  
> Rating: T (for implied smut)  
> Prompt: #48  
> Requested by: Anonymous

It had taken quite a bit of persuading and maybe a few tiny, tiny white lies to get him to agree to come over. But, in all the years that Kuroo had known one Kozume Kenma he’d grown fairly adept at convincing him that a little harmless social interaction never hurt anyone.

Of course, that was unless your name was Lev and after several alcoholic beverages, low-hanging ceiling beams became an enemy often unavoidable. But, really, that was beside the point.

The doorbell rang, once, _quietly_ (even though logically it was not any quieter than normal) and over the din of some obscure rap music Kuroo heaved a sigh of relief as he witnessed Daichi going to answer the door, making it there just in time to intercept Bokuto, who was clutching precariously to a near overflowing solo cup of unidentified red liquid.

This was good, almost preferable to Kuroo answering the door himself, because Daichi had always been reliable. He favored Kenma, did not usually tease him like Bokuto or Kuroo were often wont to do, and he’d proven to be a kind and considerate roommate- even with the cards he’d been dealt when the three of them had signed a lease together last year.

Daichi harbored a genuine smile when he pulled open the door to reveal the shorter man, dark hair grown out since high school so that the yellowish, bleached part was almost nearly gone save for an ombre effect near the tips. Kenma’s hands were shoved in the pocket of a hoodie much too big for him and probably still lingering with the original owner’s choice in cologne.

“Oh,” Daichi said by way of greeting and as Kenma’s eyes shot up to regard the frown coming to pull at the man’s lips, Kuroo felt his eyes squint uncomfortably. He’d put too much stock in a reliableness that was often (he remembered now) buoyed by a silver-blond that he realized to be conspicuously absent.

“Sorry, Kenma,” Daichi amended then, realizing not quite quickly enough the way his tone had come off. “I thought you were someone else. Come in.”

At one point in his life Kuroo would’ve had to chase Kenma down the hall and beg him to come back, easing toward him with extra care like he were coaxing a timid animal. But now, so many years into their friendship, it only took a brazen wave and a shrug of an apology for his roommate’s bizarre greeting to pull Kenma inside.

There was a multitude of people littered about the small, three bedroom house. Their thrift-store couch overtaken by several girls Kuroo thought maybe he recognized from some of his classes, or maybe those were the new neighbors from next door?

In the kitchen Bokuto had busied himself with nipping at the flushing ears of Akaashi who was staring distrustfully at a large, plastic storage bin that had been converted into some kind of punch bowl swirling with whatever reddish concoction Tanaka and Yamamoto had come up with earlier.

Daichi had found some distraction in conversing with Konoha and Asahi not far from the front door, the latter trying unsuccessfully to ignore the teasing advances of his shorter and wryly grinning boyfriend.

“You said it was an intimate get-together.” Kenma was before him, his back to the rest of the proceedings, and staring up with an expectant, quirked brow.

“That all depends on your definition of _intimate_.” Kuroo was trying to be cheeky, because on occasion adorableness could get him out of situations like these. “It’s all relative.”

Kenma huffed a sigh and Kuroo knew he wasn’t going to be able to secure victory that easily this time. “C’mon, it’s not that bad-”

“My definition of intimate is _me and you_ ,” Kenma interrupted, the words flowing quickly out as if he were pushing them through before he could talk himself out of saying them. He swallowed before adding, “And no one else.”

Kuroo stood stock still and stared. Sure, he and Kenma had been intimate in the sense that the other man was implying. Plenty of times- and they’d certainly always been handsy and comfortable with each other even before they’d admitted to perhaps liking one another in the way that, for example, Daichi and Suga or Bokuto and Akaashi _liked_ one another.

But, it was certainly different between them. More unspoken. So for Kenma to say something so blatantly about their _intimacy_ \- Kuroo was not quite sure how best to proceed.

The doorbell rang again, breaking the increasingly heated gaze between the two and saving Kuroo the trouble of answering in a smooth or (more likely) _embarrassing_ way.

He looked over and saw Daichi’s shoulders relax. Kuroo turned back to Kenma. “We’ll just say hi to Suga and then we can hang out in my room if you want.”

It wasn’t an odd suggestion or a jump at the dangled prospect of perhaps being _alone together_. In fact, it was usually how nights like these ended up anyways- Kenma lying on Kuroo’s bed while Kuroo fiddled with playlists on his computer or Kenma showed him a particularly tricky level he was working on in one of his games. It was only a natural progression for them, it always had been after all.

But, typically Kuroo ensured that Kenma at least endure _some_ of whatever social happening he was trying to avoid _before_ extricating themselves to the peaceful shelter of Kuroo’s upstairs bedroom.

Kenma’s shoulders lifted up and down once, but Kuroo could read the ease in his features at the prospect.

The door was closed and as they turned, even amidst the vibrating music that had been at some point turned up a notch or two, the resounding smack of lips pulling together rather hurriedly assaulted their ears from across the room, easily.

Kuroo was not usually one to feel uncomfortable or flushed at open displays of affection, in fact both he and Kenma were really quite used to seeing them especially from their sometimes overzealous friends. But the way that Suga had wrapped his lithe arms around Daichi’s neck, curling fingers into short, dark hair and dipping his tongue into his boyfriend’s mouth with obvious fervor left very little up to the imagination in regards to just what he wanted to do, despite the hum of the party still taking place around them.

Suga’s back hit the wall next to the door as Daichi allowed himself to be spurred. Asahi flinched away, dragging Noya behind him while Konoha just sipped at his beverage, casually surveying the room rather than become a superficial voyeur.

“Or we can just go to my room _now_ ,” Kuroo muttered, not able to break his gaze from the couple until Kenma pulled at his sleeve, turning towards the small stairwell in assent.

Admittedly, his skin felt a bit heated by the blatant display that Suga had initiated so unabashedly. But what really set his heart to racing was the soft pink that attacked the bridge of Kenma’s nose as he titled his gaze backwards to check on Kuroo’s progress up the last few stairs to the second floor.

When the door was closed only the faint beating thrum of music and muffled voices could be heard and Kuroo delighted himself in the way he could visibly watch Kenma’s muscles slacken. This was what he loved about their friendship, their relationship: how comfortable Kenma was around him, even if the outside world was an entirely different story.

But what he did not expect to happen next was for Kenma’s eyes to twitch up, cat-like and study him from across the room, intense and akin to how sharp his gaze was when they were in the midst of a volleyball match. Kuroo felt his mouth run dry at the sight.

Kenma approached and Kuroo didn’t even realize he was staggering backwards under that gaze until the backs of his knees came to hit against the edge of his bed. When swift fingers settled against his sternum, barely there grazing against the thin t-shirt he wore, Kuroo felt himself slip until he was sitting on the bed to stare up at Kenma through his partially-obscuring fringe.

_My definition of intimate is me and you. And no one else._

Yes, well they had certainly accomplished that part of it. Or rather, Kenma had. Could it be that he and Suga had been in cahoots to seduce their unknowing boyfriends? Kuroo blinked, his mind having gone foggy at the close proximity and Kenma’s fingers still resting lightly against his chest. He was thinking mad, crazy thoughts. But the way Kenma’s golden eyes bored into his own- maybe he was not so crazy after all.

Even though ending up in his room together alone was how nights like this usually ended up, ending up in his room together alone and having enough sexual tension flowing between them that it was palpable like dew on his skin was certainly _not usual_.

Their intimacy was always private. The doors on their bedrooms did not lock and the three residents partook in the unspoken rule that one knocked before entering and generally did not disturb when one was entertaining a guest. But right now their house was teaming with friends and individuals that Kuroo himself didn’t even know all of the names to.  

How quickly their usual routine had turned so dangerous.

“Kenma.” His voice was thick, but edged with warning. “We have guests.”

Regarding him neutrally, Kenma leaned forward. The sharp scent of Kuroo’s own cologne mingled in his nose and suddenly the realization that Kenma was wearing one of his sweatshirts while simultaneously coming on to him in a house full of people sent a shockwave straight downwards.

“Don’t care,” Kenma mumbled against Kuroo’s lips.

When they kissed it was soft and not hurried like the one they’d witnessed together downstairs a few moments previous, but still there was a sense of urgency. Perhaps it was due to the way Kenma’s fingers tangled at the front of his shirt, holding him steady.

When Kenma pulled back his eyes were half-lidded. “On the phone you said this was an intimate get-together,” he explained voice soft and murmuring. “You also _implied_ -” he paused, letting the idea hang in the air and did not finish the thought because (and this was quite true) it would have been entirely unnecessary to do so.

Kuroo swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing painfully. That hadn’t been his intention, but now that Kenma mentioned it… “I-I just wanted you to come over and-”

“I’m here,” Kenma whispered back, moving forward to slot a leg between Kuroo’s knees.

Kuroo reached out to brush at the cascade of dark hair that fell over the other man’s cheek. The floor beneath their feet began to vibrate as someone turned the volume up again, this time significantly. There came a shout from downstairs, one suspiciously recognizable as coming from Bokuto’s repertoire. Kuroo thought fleetingly that they would undoubtably have quite a mess to clean up in the morning.

He didn’t much care as he wrapped a hand around the back of Kenma’s neck and pulled him in for another kiss.

* * *

The next morning Kuroo awoke to a tangle of warm bedsheets and the glint of sunlight peeking through his bedroom window. He blinked the sleep from his eyes and regarded the soft rise and fall of the smooth, bare back curled against his side. The blankets had fallen slightly away to reveal a sharp hipbone and the swell of a creamy cheek.

He had the sudden and undying urge to bend down and run sharp teeth along the mesmerizing skin there, but the unapologetic sound of his door being slammed open shook him from the contemplation.

Kuroo frowned, brows catching over his eyes in curiosity as he took in a panting Bokuto, shirt and shorts askew and two-toned hair sticking every which way but up.

“Bro. My parents are coming over in ten minutes so please put some clothes on,” Bokuto breathed out, voice sounding strained and desperate and entirely out of breath. “And help me clean up downstairs?”

Kuroo quirked an eyebrow, but when he opened his mouth to speak Bokuto was already gone, bounding back down the steps presumably to start shoving as much evidence of their ‘intimate get-together’ into the laundry room as possible.

Kenma stirred, blinking open one eye and twisting to regard Kuroo. “What was that about?”

Kuroo, for what it was worth, held back the wild laughter that threatened to bubble up out of his throat. “I don’t know, but I think you’ll need to borrow another shirt.”


	2. Kuroken: 9. "It doesn't matter, I'm not leaving you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Kuroken  
> Rating: G  
> Prompt: #9  
> Requested by: seraphimchild

“You’re annoying.”

Kuroo frowned, staring at the way Kenma stared back at him, completely unapologetic in his assessment. “Aren’t you supposed to be nice to me in this particular situation?”

A single, thin shoulder lifted in a shrug. Kenma’s hands were sprawled across the blankets covering Kuroo’s good leg. “I told you not to use your roof as a diving platform.”

“Hey! It was just as much Bokuto’s dumb idea as it was mine and I don’t see you chastising _him_ ,” Kuroo spat out, trying to hide a pained expression beneath ardent incredulity as he shifted on the partially reclined hospital bed.

Kenma looked pointedly down towards the white plaster sticking out of the bluish bed sheets. “Because Bokuto is not the one lying here in the hospital with a cast on his leg,” he answered, as if it were the most logical thing in the world.

Kuroo heaved a sigh, rolling his stiff neck and peering at the other man from the edge of his vision only half-obscured by dark fringe. Kenma was still wearing that slick, black button-down that Kuroo favored so much- the one he wore while tending bar at an intimate lounge several blocks from their apartment three nights a week to maintain what little pocket cash he could amidst his ever-growing student loan debt.  

Kuroo knew that he did not particularly hold this job in high regards, especially not the stiff uniform, and so the fact that Kenma had not even bothered to go home and change (an easy task it would have been) meant that upon hearing of Kuroo’s accident he’d presumably taken the most prompt route to the hospital possible. The thought buoyed Kuroo’s spirits for a few short seconds until a sensation of an unreachable itch assaulted the skin of his encased ankle.

“ _Kenma_ ,” he started to whine.

In turn, Kenma fixed him with a sharp look. Yes, perhaps he was being just a _tiny_ bit annoying.

A knock at the door echoed into the small room, lit only by a single fluorescent bulb hovering above the head of Kuroo’s bed. The curtain separating the door and the nurse’s station slid back with a brief skid of metal on metal before it was quickly replaced to reveal the partially amused, partially agitated features of one Yaku Morisuke.

He brushed a hand over an imaginary speck of dust on his green nursing scrubs, observing them cooly. “I see you’re still set on spending the night?”

The question was directed at Kenma, though the man’s gaze was still fixed on Kuroo, as though he were the true one to shoulder the blame. Kenma bobbed his head in a brief nod before letting it fall to the bed, pillowed atop his arms as if he’d been overcome by sudden exhaustion.

Yaku huffed, but when he spoke only his words were chastising, not his tone of voice. “You two are lucky our friendship consists of some weird familial bond, because I’m risking my neck in allowing this.”

Kuroo hummed, a sloppy smirk appearing on his lips. “Ah, Yaku. Our little rule breaker.”

At that Yaku gave him a definitely non-work-approved gesture, before turning and exiting through the curtain the same way he’d come in.

“See, if we were married we wouldn’t run into problems like this,” Kuroo announced blandly, looking across the room at nothing in particular.

Kenma turned his head a few tedious inches and mumbled. “What kind of drugs did they give you?”

“It’s just a little morphine- to numb the pain.” Long fingers waved towards the liquid slowly dripping through to the IV taped to his hand. “It’s working wonders right now to ease the ache in my heart at your blatant dismissal of my proposal.”

“That wasn’t a proposal.” Kenma squinted at the way Kuroo’s bottom lip jutted out at his tone of obvious disdain. “Kuro, _stop_.”

Snickering emanated into the room around them, but the sound was weak at best seeing as how Kuroo was indeed looking at bit drowsy from the medication and the unforeseen adventures of the day.

For a few moments they sat together in comfortable silence only broken up by the faint beeping and hum of machines and the rise and fall of duel breaths.

“You have class tomorrow.” Kuroo was the first to break the quiet, staring down at the way Kenma’s eyes had begun to droop a bit more than usual. “I know we’ve gone to all that trouble of making a fuss, but you really should go home. This bed isn’t very comfy.”

Kenma regarded him through half-lidded eyes, though Kuroo could see the seriousness in his gaze. “It doesn’t matter, I’m not leaving you.”

The words, the unconscious depth behind them, had Kuroo’s fingers twitching with the need to tangle in the dark hair cascading around Kenma’s face. But before he could react or even formulate a suitable response Kenma was moving, slinking his petite frame up and into what little space was available for him to curl against the current occupant’s side.

Kuroo’s tongue sparked with the urge to say something possibly snarky or crude, but instead he just inclined his head, resting lips against the top of Kenma’s head, and whispered through the touch, “Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the original [54 Prompts](http://h-lovely.tumblr.com/post/142631002113/54-writing-prompts) post, if anyone's interested.


	3. Daisuga: 5. "You're jealous, aren't you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Daisuga  
> Rating: G  
> Prompt: #5  
> Requested by: Anonymous

“Another blind date?” Daichi wondered, leaning against the doorframe to Suga’s bedroom. “Who had the courage to set you up this time?”

Suga side-eyed him from his position rifling through a color-coordinated closet before a pink tongue flicked between pearly teeth. “Noya,” he answered. “And you _know_ I could never date someone who has such skewed views from my own. What was Tanaka thinking?”

“Skewed views?” Daichi quirked an amused brow. “Look, you know I agree with you, but you can’t go around dumping perfectly good people just because they think the movies were better than the books.”

Suga took a step towards him, eyes rolling. “It wasn’t _just_ that. He- he had a weird way of speaking. Very monotone,” he explained (badly), before poking a finger viciously against Daichi’s forehead. “You’re acting like I’m horrible, but how could I truly love someone who feels like that about Harry Potter? It’s not right.”

“You’re not right-” chuckled Daichi, swiping at the offending finger. “-in the head.”

With a minor pout Suga turned on his heel back towards his closet. “Are you going to help me pick out something to wear or not?”

Daichi, nodding even with other man’s back to him, walked over to perch on Suga’s bed. “I can help if you’re quick about it- I’ve got a date to get ready for myself.”

Over his shoulder Suga shot him a surprised look. “Oh, really?”

“Why the tone of surprise?” Daichi smirked.

In return Suga scowled. “You know I didn’t mean it like that,” he said and then added (with much-too-innocent curiosity,) “Who with?”

Daichi shrugged a shoulder. “Someone Asahi knows from one of his lectures.”

With a soft sigh Suga mused, “Quite the matchmakers, those two,” before turning back towards his closet with a pensive look. The rosy shade that crawled over the tips of his ears did not go unnoticed.

Observing him quietly Daichi tried to keep his smile to a minimal beam. He watched Suga first pull out a checked button-down, before shoving the hanger back and fussing with a plum quarter-sleeve instead.

“You’re jealous, aren’t you?”

“Jealous?” Suga scoffed, though his ears were now clearly burning. “Why would I be? I’ve got my own date or have you already forgotten?”

Daichi bit against the inside of his cheek. “Yes, I remember Suga,” he said as evenly as he could. “I mean, you’re jealous that I’ve been set up by Asahi while Noya’s liable to have matched you with someone who thinks Hufflepuff’s are pushovers.”

“They are absolutely _not_ -” but Suga caught himself, narrowing his eyes at the way Daichi’s smile stretched into something almost smug. “Stop provoking. You’ve been spending too much time with Kuroo,” he said with a pragmatic finality that had Daichi stifling an uncontainable laugh.

Ignoring him, Suga busied himself with removing the plain t-shirt he currently wore in favor of the longer sleeved one he’d pulled from it’s hanger. It was nothing Daichi hadn’t seen before, the pale lines of lithe skin lining Suga’s abdomen and back, the scattered beauty marks, but still he allowed himself the pleasure of a slightly too admiring peek before Suga covered himself again. The deep purplish fabric contrasted luminously against his milky features, the shirt’s neck just a bit too wide, showing off his sharp collarbones.

Daichi swallowed when Suga turned to face him again, only catching the tail end of his harmless ogling. The silver-blond gave a smirk. “Maybe _you’re_ the jealous one?”

_Maybe so_ , Daichi thought before rising from his position and taking the necessary steps towards his roommate. He placed hands against the outside of Suga’s shoulders and squeezed once in reassurance. “You look great. Tell me all about him when you get home, okay?”

“If you’re back,” Suga agreed, turning up a fraction to meet Daichi with a twinkle in his hazel irises. “Maybe your date will turn into something hot and heavy.” He winked and Daichi felt his composure start to crumble.

He mustered up as much strength as he could before replying, “Let’s hope so.”

* * *

The eatery was small and quaint and Suga appreciated that since he’d never been one to enjoy anything overly formal or lavish. The air was warm and sweet, filtering in from outside through cracked windows on the storefront and he could smell a comforting tapestry of spices floating out from the open kitchen. Whoever this date turned out to be, they’d done an impeccable job in winning him over on restaurant choice alone.

He sat at a small table for two near a wall of colorful and eclectic art, sipping at his water and trying to imagine just who his mystery date could be. They were a friend of Noya’s, so perhaps younger by a year or boisterous in personality. But of course, they could be the total opposite considering Noya’s own taste in boyfriends. Hopefully tall, but not too tall, and Suga did favor darker hair and of course kind eyes were always a plus.

He shook his head, trying to force the ideas out before he could make too many preconceived notions or get his hopes up. This was silly, it certainly didn’t matter what the person looked like- _as long as they preferred the books._

Suga bit down at his lower lip to hide his grin, though quite unnecessarily seeing as how he was still alone. To pass the time instead he took to wondering what kind of person Daichi might be with at the moment. He couldn’t even begin to think of the type Asahi would choose for a blind date- perhaps mostly because Asahi was not, fundamentally, the matchmaker type.

He was so deep in thought that Suga didn’t even notice the presence hovering just behind him until they’d skirted around the table and sat down in the chair across from him.

Suga blinked, once, twice. He opened his mouth to speak, shut it to swallow, and then opened it again. That was the chair reserved specifically for his blind date and yet somehow sitting there with a pleasant smile gracing his soft lips was-

“Daichi?” Suga sputtered, finally.

In turn, Daichi inclined his head. “Hey,” he said conversationally, like it was the most natural thing in the world to do.

Suga squinted. “Your date’s here too?” he (hated) to ask.

Daichi was busy unfolding his napkin and laying it gracefully across his lap. “Yes, that’s right.”

“Um-” Suga found his fingers grazing the nape of his neck, wiping at an imaginary sensation there. “-shouldn’t you sit at a different table then?”

“Why would I?” he asked, his eyes genuine but his lips twitching. He leaned forward when Suga failed to respond with more than a stutter. “Suga, _I’m_ your date.”

Fairly certain that his skin was a very healthy shade of red by now anyways, Suga stopped his floundering and met Daichi’s gaze head-on. “This was Noya’s idea?”

“No. Asahi’s actually.”

Suga frowned. “I’ll kill him.”

“You don’t want to go on a date with me?” Daichi wondered, feigning dejection.

“No- I mean, yes!” Suga stammered out, a little too loudly. “It’s just- I didn’t realize- I just didn’t think it would happen like _this_.”

All Daichi did was smile, beaming. Suga let out a rush of air from his lungs before meeting those warm, kind eyes with a tiny bit of hesitance. “I shouldn’t have suggested that your date get hot and heavy, huh?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Daichi averted his vision, though a soft redness was creeping up his neck, and picked up the menu to study it. “I think it was a very _nice_ suggestion, actually.”

Suga found himself fascinated by Daichi’s lips as he spoke. But it was the meaning behind his words that made his insides liquefy.

“Sawamura Daichi,” Suga said hurriedly as he picked up his own menu. Daichi grinned over the edge of the entree section to meet his date’s suddenly spit-fire gaze. “You’re _lucky_ you’re a book worm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the original [54 Prompts](http://h-lovely.tumblr.com/post/142631002113/54-writing-prompts) post, if anyone's interested.


	4. Matsuhana: 26. "Fancy meeting you here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Matsuhana, implied Iwaoi (I guess)  
> Rating: T (for kisses)  
> Prompt: #26  
> Requested by: Anonymous

Hanamaki was furiously scrubbing at his hands.

So furiously in fact that they’d turned a very harsh shade of red under the scalding water and the copious amounts of foamy kitchen soap had now managed to travel all the way up his forearms. The pain was almost nonexistent, his skin numb. He kept scrubbing.

“I think you missed a spot.” Iwaizumi said, bone-dry, not glancing up from the book laying across his knees. He was, for some reason, lounging on Hanamaki’s couch and the oddest thing of all was that Hanamaki hadn’t even realized he was sitting there until this very moment.

“Makki, what are you doing?” Oikawa wondered a heartbeat later, voice un-ironically concerned. Hanamaki turned towards him, at first his expression blank until he could formulate enough understanding of the situation to shoot him a glare over his shoulder. He was still in his boxer shorts, pinkish hair sleep-mussed. It wasn’t even nine o’clock yet and it was Saturday.

Deciding not to question it too much (for that would invariably just invite _more_ questions), Hanamaki clenched his teeth as he ground out beneath his breath, “Washing off the filth.”

He turned back to the kitchen sink swirling with soapy water and struggling to drain properly.

“Oh.” Oikawa’s voice lilted into something dangerously thoughtful. “Did you have another dirty dream?”

Spinning (water flying every which way) Hanamaki squinted, narrowing his vision so much so that Oikawa’s face turned into a shadowy blur. How was it that he always seemed to _know_ things?

Instead of admitting defeat however, Hanamaki bit out, “Don’t you have anyone else to annoy?”

Iwaizumi’s eyes flicked up in a brief glare. “Leave me out of this.”

Ignoring him, Oikawa said with the upmost seriousness, “Oh my god, you had another sex dream about Mattsun.”

Breathing and speaking simultaneously was becoming an increasingly difficult task. “W-what?” Hanamaki sputtered out shortly followed by a very vehement, “ _No!_ ”

“Yes, you did!” Oikawa began to nod vigorously. “It’s written all over your face, Makki!”

His tone was unbearable and Hanamaki had to remind himself (unfortunately) that he’d not even had his first cup of coffee yet. Eyes slanted towards the clock on the microwave- it read 9:02. He’d been having this impossibly unreal conversation now for three whole minutes. He decided, emphatically, that that was two and a half minutes much too long.

“Why are you two here exactly?” He opted to change tactics in a ploy to reroute the current (annoyingly personal) topic of discussion.

“You invited us, silly. Don’t you remember?” Oikawa sing-songed. “Or is your memory already going in your old age?”

“Six months,” Hanamaki grumbled out, literally cursing the day he was born, and totally amazed that he was even gracing the comment with one of his own (albeit not as clever as he might’ve liked.) “And there’s no way in hell I invited you to my house on a Saturday morning.”

“It was Mattsun’s idea,” Iwaizumi supplied, not bothering to look up from his reading this time around.

Oikawa’s pointer finger flew into the air. “That’s right! It was Mattsun’s idea,” he repeated shaking his head like it had been a simple mistake to have made.

Hanamaki stared at the way they were _still_ so blatantly occupying his couch, eyeing Oikawa with extra distrust. “ _Why?_ ” he finally forced himself to ask.

“Probably because he’s worried about you,” Oikawa replied, placing a hand dramatically across his heart. “You’re never around, always at the library these days, Makki. And you’re overrun, exhausted in fact, because you’re being kept awake at night thinking of Mattsun’s-”

“That’s _enough!_ ” Hanamaki exclaimed, cutting Oikawa off and trying to hide his sudden panic with vehemence. “Out- both of you!”

Iwaizumi grunted and closed his book, looking a bit surprised that it had taken even this long for Hanamaki to kick them out. On the other hand, Oikawa was standing and fluttering towards the strawberry-blond with unnecessary concern.

“But we’re supposed to help you relax,” Oikawa insisted. “Keep you from going to that study group you _clearly_ despise-”

That was Matsukawa’s grand idea? Keeping him stuck here with these two idiots as his babysitters? And even then, how was he supposed to relax with Oikawa Tooru hanging around and making wild (but scarily accurate) assumptions about Hanamaki’s naughty dream cycles?

Had he seriously just allowed himself to use the word naughty and Oikawa in the same sentence?

Frustration and embarrassment welled inside of him and he did the only thing his mind could think of at the moment- grabbing at the sleeve of Oikawa’s stupidly perfectly pressed button-down and hauling him and all his gangly good-looks towards the door, Iwaizumi trailing behind them casually.

“Makki, we’re the best friends you’ve got-” Oikawa squawked when Hanamaki shoved him over the threshold after flinging open the front door. “-we’re here to help!”

“Thanks for having us.” Iwaizumi did not hide his smug grin well, but Hanamaki was too wrapped up in the adrenaline of the whole orchestration to give into the temptation to snark something in reply.

Oikawa was clinging to Iwaizumi’s shoulders, still trying to get every last word in. “At least let me try to interpret the dream for you! _Give me some details!_ ”

Hanamaki slammed the door (satisfyingly) right in Oikawa’s face.

* * *

He was sitting on the couch studying the (very fascinating) wall just beyond the t.v. currently set on mute. The white expanse was glaring at him- it needed something, definitely. Artwork? No, but perhaps a photograph- maybe black and white and something aesthetically pleasing, whatever that meant.

When Matsukawa walked in through the front door Hanamaki did not pull his very engrossed gaze away from the now very disturbingly _blank_ wall.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

Hanamaki quirked a brow, but still did not meet Matsukawa, instead regarding him from his peripheral vision. “I live here,” he replied, obviously.

“Huh.” The door closed and Matsukawa moved to set something down in the kitchen. “I guess you do. I nearly forgot because of how rarely I ever see you these days.”

Finally, after a long pause and much determination, Hanamaki turned to face his roommate. “My classes are very demanding this semester,” he said, and then tacked on, “Your night shifts don’t help either.”

“You’re so studious, Hiro,” Matsukawa responded without missing a beat before gesturing towards a familiar white box resting on the counter. “And you cannot complain about the fresh profiteroles and melon bread that magically show up on the table every morning.”

Hanamaki did not enjoy the fact that he couldn’t often tell when Matsukawa was being sarcastic or not. He did, however, walk into the kitchen to investigate the little patisserie box.

Instead of responding to the (possible) compliment and definitively ignoring the food-oriented bribe he said instead, “I heard it was your magnificent idea to have Iwaizumi and Oikawa come to babysit.”

“You’re putting words in my mouth, Hiro,” Matsukawa said, calm, totally unperturbed. “I don’t think you’re a baby at all.”

How was it that this man was so infuriating sometimes and Hanamaki couldn’t even legitimately get mad at him because he wasn’t even being _rude_ or anything, just genuinely _nice_. Hanamaki lifted the box’s lid- it did indeed contain several profiteroles along with some melon pan and a cream horn.  

Matsukawa was so serene, staring slightly down at Hanamaki, and all Hanamaki could do was think about how hot his skin was starting to feel as he turned to find the other man suddenly standing very close to him. Licking his lips he opened his mouth, but Matsukawa spoke first.

“Oikawa told me something interesting the other day.”

Hanamaki’s heart might have stopped for a second or two. “Oh?” he hummed, desperate to sound unfazed. He had to refrain from picturing the image of his fist in the general vicinity of Oikawa’s face.

Matsukawa nodded once, dark curls fluttering with the movement. “Said that he feared you weren’t getting enough sleep with all the extra studying.” Hanamaki let himself breathe again, but that was before Matsukawa added, “And the sex dreams, of course.”

Hanamaki found himself (mortifyingly) choking on absolutely nothing but the suddenly claustrophobic air surrounding him. Oh, he was _definitely_ going to have to kill Oikawa now. And not even the likes of Iwaizumi Hajime could get in his way.

“Hiro, you’re turning red,” Matsukawa’s voice filtered into his mind slowly. “Maybe you should sit down?”

Hanamaki blinked, realizing that thick eyebrows had knitted over half-lidded eyes staring him down in concern. “Uh,” he said, because if anything he was always articulate.

There came a hum in response, perhaps the stifle of a laugh, and then hands were pushing him down on one of the stools that usually lived tucked beneath the kitchen counter.

“Can I tell you something?” Matsukawa’s voice reverberated into Hanamaki’s ears. When he turned he realized they were sitting next to each other now, Matsukawa observing him softly.

Hanamaki shrugged a shoulder, his synapses still not totally cooperating. “I guess.”

On anyone else the grin that Mastukawa held on his face might have been smug or amused, but the way his lips spread crookedly did not have Hanamaki flushing out of any type of _embarrassment_. Certainly that would have been preferable.

“I may or may not have experienced some indecent thoughts myself lately,” Matsukawa said simply.

“Dreams and thoughts are two different things,” Hanamaki found himself rambling before he could quite stop the words from spilling out.

But Matsukawa just lifted his broad shoulders, not flustered by the accusation. “Does that bother you?”

“It bothers me-” Hanamaki closed his mouth, swallowed hard, and then continued on, carefully. “-only if said indecent thoughts involve someone else. Because then this entire conversation will be moot and I will still be plotting Oikawa’s murder, with or without you as my accomplice.”

“I’m flattered that you’d consider me for the position.”

“So, is this like some weird profession or something?”

As far as kisses go, this one seemed pretty standard. Matsukawa’s mouth was soft against his own, pushing forward with just the slightest force and nibbling slightly at Hanamaki’s lower lip. The addition of a teasing tongue flicking against his skin was a little more unexpected, but what really surprised Hanamaki was the sudden, cloying urge to literally jump his roommate’s bones.

He’d always thought that a strange expression, but upon the sensation of Matsukawa’s tongue dipping into his mouth he was fairly certain he didn’t give a shit.

When breathing again became an apparent necessity for them both, Hanamaki found himself staring so deeply into a set of dark eyes he’d been acquainted with for so long but had never truly _looked_ at before and the direct, unbroken gaze caused his muscles to begin to tighten.

“I guess I could take one day off from studying,” he said, voice sounding entirely unlike his own but bringing a very pleasing grin to Matsukawa’s face just the same.

“Who needs sleep anyways?” said Matsukawa in return, an endearing wrinkle coming to form between his thick brows.

Hanamaki frowned at that, almost pouted. “But I was just going to suggest a joint nap.”

“Didn’t you just wake up?”

“I could always sleep.”

Matsukawa gave him a very self-sacrificing look. “I’ll concede to a nap as long as you consent to getting lunch together afterwards.”

Finally Hanamaki managed to persuade his mouth into a signature smirk. “I thought you’d never ask, Issei.”

Twining fingers with his own Matsukawa began to tug the other man towards his bedroom. Hanamaki, not for lack of trying to resist, could not quite forget just how this little admonition had started.

The weight of his dreams had finally been lifted, and what better way to celebrate than a little well placed innuendo?

Hanamaki fought against a snicker, pawing at Matsukawa’s arm as they made their way- _together_ \- towards a very inviting bed. “So, does _nap_ mean nap? Or does nap mean _nap_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the original [54 Prompts](http://h-lovely.tumblr.com/post/142631002113/54-writing-prompts) post, if anyone's interested.


	5. Asanoya: 49. "I'm really drunk, please help me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Asanoya, Daisuga  
> Rating: T (for kisses and of-age alcohol consumption)  
> Prompt: #49  
> Requested by: Anonymous

His bed was comfortable, sheets soft against his shirtless upper body. But it was entirely too cold. And lonely. And _loud_ \- very obnoxiously loud and vibrating to boot.

Wait a second, no. That was his cellphone.

****Nishinoya brought sleepy fingers up to scrape at his lashes, rubbing hard at the skin still closed over his eyes. He didn’t bother to actually open them, reaching out blindly for the phone he’d haphazardly thrown onto the open space of bed next to him, pillow still propped perfectly up in its place, unmoved.

The next trick was actually answering, sans eyesight. But what proved to be the most difficult was forcing his voice (lips still groggy and tongue numb) to fully cooperate.

“H’lo?” he managed, pretty certain that the very low hum of music and breathing coming through the phone was a sign that he had been successful in his answering.

****“I’m really drunk, please help me.”

Immediately Noya felt his ears prick and his mind perk up. “Who is this?” he asked anyways, mouth attempting to cooperate with the small dose of sarcasm.

There came a grumble (an actual grumble!) from the other end and Noya had to forcibly hold himself back from chuckling at it.

“I’ll pay for your uber-” there came a tiny sound, suspiciously like a hiccup. “-if you come drive my car home.”

“Just your car? I think I can handle that.”

“And us too-” the voice on the other end seemed tired and exasperated. “-Noya _please_?”

Noya was half tempted to ask what he might get in return for such a favor- surely fare for an uber did not qualify as his one and only prize. Instead he took pity on the grumbly (and just barely slurring) man on the other end. “Okay, okay,” he agreed. “Since you asked _so_ nicely. I’ll be there in twenty.”

He’d be there in ten, but he couldn’t help the tiny bit of amusement that Asahi’s little groan of impatience provided him, hiccups and all.

* * *

“This is not drunk.”

Asahi stared at him, eyes narrowed slightly over his wallet as he fished around for some bills to offer his small boyfriend as some kind of repentance (one that Noya would wholeheartedly refuse in approximately three seconds or so).

“Excuse me?” Asahi muttered, glaring at the way Noya’s fingers were pushing his money back into his billfold and trying unsuccessfully to hide the tiny hiccup that escaped from the back of his throat.

This time Noya could not control his laughter, his smirk causing his eyes to glow beneath the dim streetlamp hovering over the sidewalk outside of the loudly thumping, Americanized bar they were now standing outside of.

“This is not drunk,” he repeated, smile unbreakable. “This is adorable, endearingly tipsy Asahi. And while adorable, endearingly tipsy Asahi _is_ one of my favorite Asahi’s, this is _not drunk_.”

The glare the taller man set him with was weak at best. He blinked a few times and then concluded, “I can’t drive.”

Noya shoved hands into the pockets of his sweatpants, rocking back on his heels as he gave Asahi an appraising once over. “I think that’s a bit of a sliding scale. You could’ve-”

“Noya, _no_ ,” Asahi abruptly cut him off, the fire in his voice being canceled out by another tiny hiccuping sound.

Shaking his head, Noya tried not to let his eyes roll for the sake of keeping his boyfriend adorable verses angry. “Okay, if _you’re_ drunk, then what does that make those two?”

He pointed a steady finger just over Asahi’s shoulder causing the man to turn and glance back towards the bar’s front entrance. There against the wall stood two bodies clinging to one another, small trickles of laughter and the wet sound of lips and skin mingling out from their languid embrace. Both sets of cheeks were flushed as red as their kiss-bitten lips and it was clear that if the wall wasn’t there to hold them up they would have tumbled to the ground together long ago.

Well, at least Suga and Daichi looked like they were having fun. Noya caught Asahi’s gaze again with a pointed brow.

Asahi shrugged one shoulder slowly. “Obliterated?”

Noya’s head tilted to look at the two again with a little simper. “Hm, okay I can see that,” he conceded before turning to frown up at his boyfriend. “But you’re still not _drunk_ drunk.”

With a pained look Asahi said, “I don’t think I want to be drunk drunk _ever_.”

The pout Noya shot him was entirely unfair and he knew it too. “But my only birthday wish when I turn twenty-one is to get _drunk drunk_ with you.”

Asahi let out a rather large sigh. “That’s months from now.”

Noya squared him up, changing topics rapid fire once again. “How did you get ‘drunk’, Asahi?” he wondered, using a liberal amount of air quotes. “I can count on one hand how many times I’ve seen you like this- and by this I mean adorably, endearingly tipsy not actually drunk, just so we’re clear.”

Asahi ignored the jibe, offering up a pitiful look instead. The one he knew was powerful enough to even work on one Nishinoya Yuu. “Daichi made me do tequila shots,” he muttered around a swallow of yet another misplaced hiccup.

Noya’s eyes grew wide, incredulous. “Daichi?!”

Throwing a finger over his shoulder directed towards a tangle of arms and kisses and silver-blond, he added, “Because Suga was making him do them and Daichi said the playing field had to be even.”

Noya’s smirk then turned into one of vast appreciation. “You never were good with peer pressure,” he snickered.

Asahi’s shoulders dropped. “Can you just take us home?”

Crossing his arms Noya brought fingers to rub at his chin in over-exaggerated thought. “Hm,” he murmured with a sweep of thumb and forefinger over his jaw, before breaking into a wide, beaming grin. “Only for a kiss!”

As relieved as Asahi looked, there was still suspicion in his wary voice. “That’s all?”

Eyes narrowing as his smile grew, Noya stepped forward to reach grabby hands around his boyfriend’s neck, pulling the taller down closer to his level. “Are you offering other things?” he whispered against Asahi’s lips.

The other man’s skin burned red, now not just from the remnants of alcohol in his system. “Noya, we’re in public,” he hissed, but still managed to wrap large hands around the small of Noya’s back.

“I can wait,” was all he said in reply, tone huskier than he had intended, but by the dark look he received in return Noya realized the night was taking a turn he’d not at first seen coming.

With a huff he untangled himself from Asahi’s arms and marched over to where Daichi now had Suga pinned to the wall (they’d switched places too many times in the past few minutes to really keep track) and tugged at the man’s broad shoulder impatiently.

“Alright lovebirds,” Noya announced, smirking at the startled expressions his friends were shooting him, as if his presence were the most surprising and unforeseeable thing in the universe. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Daichi just blinked at him, while Suga’s lips quivered with a giggle. “It was Daichi’s fault!” he exclaimed, words a little rushed and unsteady with amusement.

The glare Daichi fit him with was priceless, forcing Noya to look away to save himself from falling in line with Suga’s uncontrollable laughter. “Don’t care!” he announced, turning on his heel and making a beeline for Asahi’s front pocket in search of car keys.

Once retrieved, said keys were set to spinning around Noya’s forefinger as he guided the other three towards the parking lot. “I’ve got a hot date with my bed,” he explained just before throwing a very conspicuous wink back over his shoulder. “And a hot date with my boyfriend. So let’s get your drunk asses home!”

For his trouble he received a loud, whooping catcall from Suga, an appreciative and liquored chuckle from Daichi, and a very pronounced and _very_ _embarrassed_ groan from Asahi.

Noya shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked, not bothering to look back for the reactions, but enjoying them nonetheless. Who ever said being a sober driver didn’t have its perks?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the original [54 Prompts](http://h-lovely.tumblr.com/post/142631002113/54-writing-prompts) post, if anyone's interested.


	6. Kuroken: 5. "You're jealous, aren't you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Kuroken, implied Bokuaka  
> Rating: T (for nudity I guess?)  
> Prompt: #5  
> Requested by: animeismylifestyle

He was just bidding farewell to some lab partners cum classmates cum acquaintances (inevitably cum drinking buddies once this hellish semester was up) and nearly ran headlong into the smaller man that had sidled up next to him, so wholly focussed on his handheld that he (only barely) missed the shocked look that came across Kuroo’s usually smooth features at his arrival.

They stood like that for a moment, Kuroo folding arms across his chest and observing Kenma until his sharp-eyed gaze flicked up signifying the end to whatever boss fight or Pokémon battled he had successfully overcome.

Before either could speak there came a girlish bubble of laughter from the library’s entryway. Kuroo glanced over, keeping his peripherals on Kenma, and waved back towards the tallish, slender brunette flicking manicured fingers his way.

When he looked back to Kenma he caught the tail end of his minor perplexity just before his face melted back into neutral. Kenma didn’t say a word, didn’t bother asking a single question, but Kuroo knew.

“Oh her? She’s in my organic chemistry lecture-” he answered without prompt. “-and in that study group I was telling you about.”

The look Kenma shot him, flat and blank, told Kuroo that he had no clue what he was talking about.

But then, there was something sparking up from the depths of those golden eyes as they flicked back to trail after the swaying hips of the girl Kuroo had just left contact with.

Kuroo felt a telltale smirk take over his lips. “Wait a minute,” he said. “You’re annoyed, aren’t you?”

Kenma flinched at that, but managed to hide it fairly well. “Why would I be _annoyed_ that you’re cramming for one of the hardest classes on the course schedule?” he muttered out.

“Hey, not all of us get to sit around and sketch naked people all day long.” Kuroo hitched his bag up onto his shoulder.

Kenma frowned. “That is not what I-”

Kuroo turned to give him a side-long glance through his fringe, interrupting without a beat. “But you know that’s not what I meant, Kenma.”

For what it was worth, Kenma said nothing in response, just kept staring at Kuroo and waiting him out. Like clockwork Kuroo broke the gaze first, turning and heading towards the revolving glass doors. He could feel Kenma’s eyes still on him as he moved to follow.

“She’s nice, but-” Kuroo glanced over his shoulder just before they got to the exit, giving Kenma one of his best smiles, teeth cutting sideways across his face. “- _definitely_ not my type.”

In turn, Kenma’s eyes rolled weakly and he dropped his face downwards forcing a few strands of bleached hair to fall across his cheeks. But still, Kuroo didn’t miss the blush.

* * *

Three days later and thankfully Saturday, Kuroo laid sprawled out on their couch while Kenma, longish hair strung back in a messy tail at the nape of his neck, sat at their rickety little kitchen table with stylus in hand and tablet set below his hunched shoulders.

_“And then, I shit you not, Akaashi punched him right in the face.”_

“Dude, seriously?” Kuroo balked and curved the phone better towards his mouth.

 _“Seriously,”_ Bokuto repeated with extra emphasis. _“I guess, moral of the story, don’t shout egregious pick-up lines at Keiji after he’s already rejected you four times.”_

“Egregious?”

_“His word not mine.”_

“He really punched the guy?” Kuroo’s brows were raised and he caught Kenma glancing at him for half a second in possible, mild curiosity. “And you just stood there?”

_“Hey hey, I was tryin’ to defend his honor or whatever, but then he was just so calm and diplomatic about the whole thing saying he was gonna handle it himself and then-”_

“He handled it himself.”

 _“That he did.”_ There came the sound of Bokuto swallowing in the other end. _“Bro- it was actually kind of hot.”_

“I can imagine.” Kuroo’s eyes lifted once again to his roommate, the tiniest feeling of mischief coming to tickle at the back of his mind. “Hey Kenma-” The man in question looked up from his tablet, his eyes the only part of him that moved. “-if some obnoxious guy was hitting on you, would you punch him?”

It looked as though Kenma were actually contemplating the implications of the question. His eyes studied Kuroo up and down and very pointedly. Then, with an abrupt finality, he answered soft but firm. “No.”

Kuroo deflated a bit, sinking into the couch even more than he already had been.

 _“What’d he say?”_ Bokuto hastened.

“He said no.” Kuroo tried not to scowl.

There came a loud chuckle. _“Ask him where his fighting spirit is.”_

Lifting his head back up in attempt to catch Kenma’s attention again, Kuroo appeased his friend. “Bo wants to know where your fighting spirit is?”

As surprising as it was Kenma actually looked back up, albeit briefly. He stared at his roommate for a hard few seconds before going back to his work. Kuroo continued to watch him, observing the way his hair began trickling out of the makeshift pony tail and falling across his cheekbones. His mouth suddenly felt very, very dry.

 _“I guess you’ll just have to defend his honor yourself,”_ Bokuto said, breaking the silence that had lingered for a little longer than necessary.

“Yeah.” Kuroo tried not to sound as distracted as he’d suddenly become, but it was mostly unsuccessful. “Hey, I just remembered something I have to do. I’ll call you later, okay?”

There came a surprisingly knowing hum from the other end and Kuroo frowned unnecessarily at it. _“I’m telling you, bro. Try something romantical.”_ Bokuto sing-songed the last part and there was a split second where Kuroo feared that Kenma might have heard.

“ _Later_ , Bo,” he grunted into the phone. They’d already been over this a dozen times- Kenma certainly was not the one for any _romantic_ courtship, Bokuto was repeatedly mistaken (and therefore quite unhelpful,) and Kuroo was still at a loss.

 _“Good luck,”_ Bokuto chirped, none the worse for being once again ignored.

After they’d hung up Kuroo’s tongue began to feel swollen in his mouth; always at a loss for words in the most inopportune of times. Of course, Kenma didn’t pay much attention as engrossed as he was in whatever project he was currently working on.

“You’re mad, aren’t you?” Kuroo finally blurted out, causing Kenma’s hand to slip involuntarily at the abrupt and too-loud distraction. He grimaced down at his tablet and the expression hadn’t quite worn off by the time he turned to Kuroo.

“What?” Kenma appeared obviously and rightly confused.

Kuroo blinked. “I was talking to Bokuto- interrupting your work- _still am_ interrupting your work.” His tongue was definitely not cooperating now. “Sorry, I’ll just shut up.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Kenma shook his head and another strand of blond escaped across his forehead. At first Kuroo’s muscles tensed, but then when Kenma shifted to stand and his demeanor smoothed back to normal Kuroo reminded himself to start breathing again.

Kenma crooked a finger behind his head to catch at the band still tangled there. “I was finished a while ago,” he explained.

A moment after he’d left the room Kuroo heard the sound of the shower starting. He sat stock still for a few more heartbeats before rising and padding towards the table and the still open tablet resting there.

Black, clean lines; a simple sketch. Dark, mussed bangs partially obscured half-lidded eyes. A soft smirk traveled just above a sharp jawline. Lithe shoulders peeked out of a ratty, old muscle shirt.

Kuroo looked down at the threadbare shirt from high school that he was currently wearing, a mirror image.

* * *

It had been a long day, a very long day, and all Kenma wanted to do right now was fall down in his bed and sleep.

Of course, he definitely had to shower first. He could feel the way his hair was sticking to the back of his neck from the rapid rise in temperature and humidity outside as springtime began to rear its ugly head. For a single second he considered cutting off all of the annoying strands, but then immediately banished the bizarre indiscretion from his thoughts.

The kitchen light was left on so that meant Kuroo was home, but judging by the time blinking at Kenma from over the stove his roommate was most likely in bed- where Kenma would be in approximately fifteen minutes if everything went according to plan.

Of course he’d not exactly accounted on the possibility of Kuroo not being in bed. And he’d definitely not accounted on the possibility of walking past an open bathroom door to find a very relaxed, very naked Kuroo Tetsurou lounging in the bathtub (the very one that neither of them _ever_ used) and gazing over at him with a much more sultry gaze than Kenma had really prepared himself for.

He stood there in the doorway and blinked several times to focus his eyes better, but the odd illusion never vanished from his sight and- were those actual _rose petals_ he could see floating in the water just above Kuroo’s-

“What are you doing?” he blurted out rather frantically instead of allowing his mind to quite finish that thought.

Steam was curling around the room, mingling with Kuroo’s already messy hair and causing the tips to twist in odd directions that had Kenma biting down on his tongue.

Kuroo quirked a brow at him. “Kenma.” His voice was velvetier than usual. “You’re jealous, aren’t you?”

Now it was Kenma’s turn to screw up his brows. His lips twitched. “Jealous?” he said, before the genuine confusion and rapidly forming flush could make his voice crack.

“Don’t you want to join me?” Kuroo lifted a hand from the edge of the tub, gesturing idly at the warm water and soft, luminescent bubbles scattered across the silvery plane. He did make it look quite inviting.

Kenma blinked again. Jealous- _jealous_ because Kuroo was in the bath without him? That was the most impossibly stupid and idiotic thing he had ever heard in his entire life.

The first thing Kenma did was toe off his shoes, stepping across the threshold and onto the cool tile without breaking Kuroo’s now half challenging, half smug gaze. With unsteady fingers he went to unbutton his jeans, pulling them down until he was standing before his roommate in nothing but boxers and a too-big sweatshirt. It was in this moment, with golden eyes roving over his bare lower half, that Kenma realized just what he was entering into and that’s when the self-consciousness set in.

At the pause Kuroo forced his eyes back up to Kenma, soft and not pressuring like they had been a moment before. “If you don’t want to-”

“Kuro,” Kenma interrupted. “ _Why?_ ”

There was no specifics to the question itself, but by the way Kuroo’s lips pulled into a more genuine, almost embarrassed sort of grin Kenma knew he understood.

A small laugh bubbled up from Kuroo’s throat before he spoke. “Bo said I should try something romantical.”

Romantical? That did sound like something one Bokuto Koutarou would suggest. Kenma frowned. “This is what you came up with?”

“See, I knew you wouldn’t like it,” Kuroo shot back a bit dejectedly.

Kenma gave him a pointed look. “That’s not what I said.”

Slowly, much slower than he had taken it initially, Kenma began to continue his disrobing. He couldn’t fight back against the heated flush running beneath his skin, but he tried to convey to Kuroo that he was okay with a soft lilting of his lips.

Kuroo slunk a little further into the water as their eyes met. Kenma’s smile grew at the other’s obvious fluster.

The water was almost too hot when he first stepped in, testing it with a toe before Kuroo was grasping at his wrist to steady him. When Kenma sat, the water rising with the newly added body, Kuroo tried his best to fold his gangly legs up until his knees were poking out of the water on either side of Kenma’s milky torso.

“You could have just asked me to dinner or something, you know.” Kenma brought fingers up to flick water and a wayward rose petal against Kuroo’s tanned chest.

“That just seemed so boring,” Kuroo chuckled, swiping unnecessarily at the drops now clinging to his sternum. “Besides we’ve been going on dinner dates together for years.”

Kenma felt his lips twitch. “Are you implying that we’ve been dating since we were children?”

Kuroo shot him a suffering look. “Kenma, I’m trying here-”

“I know,” He replied quickly, lowering his gaze to glance up through thick lashes. “Thank you.”

Kuroo leaned forward as much as their awkward configuration would allow until their noses were almost touching. “You’re welcome,” he said with a brush of lips against Kenma’s own.

When he pulled back however, there was something mischievous in his cat-like gaze. “So, I have this sneaky suspicion-” Kuroo began. “-were you jealous of that girl in the library the other day?”

The near tidal wave of water that hit him this time was definitely answer enough.


	7. Daisuga: 9. "It doesn't matter, I'm not leaving you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Daisuga, implied Bokuaka, implied Kuroken  
> Rating: T (minor smut)  
> Prompt: #9  
> Requested by: Anonymous

It had been two weeks, three days, and twelve hours nearly to the minute.

Daichi hadn’t exactly meant to keep track like this, seeing as how this wasn’t something that was necessarily all-important to keep track of. But after the first (very long) week it had come down to the fact that if he kept track of the time then perhaps it would help drive things along. It hadn’t, obviously.

And the thing was, when all was said and done, it hadn’t been either of their faults. The new semester had just started and they’d both been simultaneously moving and signing leases and paying too much money for textbooks. It had been difficult to even find the time just to have lunch together. It had been a stressful couple of weeks, to say the least.

And it was clear to Daichi, perhaps based on the way Suga’s mouth was latching onto his neck and his hips grinding dangerously down onto Daichi’s thigh, that he too had been counting the minutes.

“Ah, Dai-” Suga panted into his ear as Daichi’s hand found its way unapologetically down the back of his jeans. The flesh was soft and familiar and when his fingers kneaded into it there came a very pleasing moan from his boyfriend that sent his own hardness twitching in his pants.

“Suga,” he mouthed against the man’s jaw. “It’s been way too long.”

Suga’s back arched up and he met Daichi’s eyes, his own glazed and dark. “I don’t think I can take it any longer,” he whispered out, voice so breathy it had Daichi’s skin tingling.

With that as his cue Daichi’s fingers seized Suga’s jeans, fumbling only briefly with the button, before tugging them down roughly to reveal milky skin and a very prominent erection.

Suga- straddled as he was in Daichi’s lap- bent over the man to dip a tongue into his mouth as Daichi’s fingers swept through pearly pre-cum and started to coax some very nice moans vibrating up from Suga’s throat.

It was in this moment, against all odds and with Daichi’s other hand reaching to grasp firmly against the exposed skin of Suga’s sharp hipbone that the door to his bedroom was flung open with a loud and resounding bang against its hinges.

“Oh-” came a voice from the doorway. “-I didn’t realize you were here, Suga.”

Daichi’s skin burned and his mouth gaped as he crooked his neck to find one Kuroo Testurou leaning against the doorjamb with arms languidly folded over his chest, regarding them casually like he hadn’t just walked in on them in the pre-stages of hot and steamy and long-overdue sex.

A heartbeat later, before any of them had the forethought to move or say anything else, there came a pounding of feet up the stairs and a very out of breath Bokuto popped his head in next to Kuroo’s shoulder. As if to add insult to injury he was half-naked and ogling the couple with wide, unabashed eyes.

“Um, can we help you?” It was surprisingly Suga’s voice that broke the silence first, and even though his skin was flushing a shade of very prominent pink his tone was relatively even.

Daichi, for what it was worth, felt his brain click back to reality just as Kuroo’s mouth lilted into some type of hazardous smirk. He rolled his body, trapping a surprised and now squawking Suga beneath him, in an attempt to shield his boyfriend from the appraising eyes of his new roommates.

“Get the _fuck_ out!” he bellowed over his shoulder at the two who were now snickering to one another, Bokuto leaning into Kuroo for obvious support.

Kuroo pretended to wipe at his eyes. “Whatever you say, _Dai_.”

* * *

“You need a sex euphemism.”

Fifteen minutes later and now consequently Suga-less, Daichi’s eyes narrowed amid a very deep scowl. “What I need are new roommates.”

“A low blow-” From his position sprawled on their couch, Kuroo flicked his hand in the air to brush the comment away. “-but I won’t take it personally, because I know it’s just the blue balls talking.”

Daichi’s fingers curled with the need to grip something (preferably Kuroo’s throat) but with some pointed restraint he realized that _murder_ would probably be a bit excessive. So instead Daichi growled out, “What is a sex euphemism?”

“You know, a euphemism for sex,” Kuroo replied with a supposedly helpful grin. “Mine’s ‘watching a movie.’”

Daichi frowned. “What happens if you’re _actually_ going to watch a movie?”

“Well then you’d say it without the inflection,” he explained as if it were obvious. “It’s _‘we’re watching a movie’_ verses ‘we’re watching a movie.’”

Finding his scowl only growing, Daichi watched Kuroo for a sign of sarcasm, but he found nothing. “I don’t hear any difference,” he muttered.

“Look, it’s not a binding contract.” Kuroo shook his head. “Besides it’s more for, say, your _roommate’s_ benefit than anything else. Like a tie on the doorknob kind of deal.”

At that moment Bokuto decided to grace them with his presence (this time thankfully totally clothed) and walked over to the kitchen to rifle through the refrigerator. He turned over his shoulder to quirk a thick brow. “Are you telling him about sex euphemisms?”

“Yup,” Kuroo threw back before turning his attention to Daichi again. “So if you wanted to be alone you might say, Suga and I are _going to watch a movie-_ ” his long fingers twitched to form air-quotes. “-and that way we’d know not to come barging in.”

“You know, it wouldn’t hurt to have the decency to just knock before entering a room, sex euphemism or not,” Daichi grunted, folding his arms because he was uncertain of how much longer he could convince his hands not to stray to that invitingly exposed neck.

“Daichi, who do you take us for?” Kuroo’s golden eyes rolled sharply. “Now, you’ve gotta come up with one on your own because ‘watching a movie’ is my go to.”

Daichi was taken-aback, brows curving up. “You have _others_?”

“Doing a puzzle.” Bokuto supplied with a wide, eager smile as he sauntered into the living room to join them.

“A puzzle?” Daichi said, bewildered.

Kuroo jumped up to sit on the edge of his seat. “That’s a good one!” he gestured happily to Bokuto who preened at the praise.

Daichi’s hand came up to rub hopelessly against his temple. “No, it’s really not,” he groaned out.

He was very pointedly ignored.

“Making the bed!” Bokuto cried out.

“Another prime example!”

“Netflix and chill-” Bokuto added before his mouth twitched into a thoughtful frown. “-oh wait, that one’s mine.”

Kuroo’s smirk revealed too many teeth. “Playing doctor.”

“Oh, oh!” Bokuto chirped pointing at Kuroo in excitement and furiously bobbing his head.

“Absolutely not,” Daichi growled, having had just about enough of all this.

“Fine, Daichi,” Kuroo sighed in return. “If you’re going to be so uncreative I suppose you can just use mine.”

Daichi threw him an artificial smile. “Oh, you’re too kind, Kuroo.”

Kuroo just barked out a laugh, not at all phased by the obvious sardonicism. “Geezus, you do need to get laid,” he snarked just before a pillow hit him full force in the face.

* * *

“My roommates are idiots,” Daichi groaned, fumbling with his keys as a pink mouth came to nip at his ear. He shuttered and turned to Suga with a half-hearted glare. “You should be more concerned, you’re going to have to deal with them almost as much as I do.”

“It doesn’t matter, I’m not leaving you,” Suga purred against his neck, his hands wandering lower and causing Daichi to nearly drop his keys. “Don’t you worry.”

“ _Suga_ ,” Daichi admonished, rocking his hips away from the grabby hands just as he got the front door open.

They walked in together, Suga practically hanging onto Daichi’s arm, and were greeted with the sight of Bokuto and Akaashi’s textbooks and papers strewn across the kitchen table and Kuroo and Kenma bundled up on the couch flicking through channels they were only halfway paying attention to.

Neither couple batted an eyelash at Suga and Daichi’s arrival. Bokuto’s eyes flicked up for only a second to check who had walked in, but he seemed a bit too engrossed in Akaashi’s explanation of some sort of literary device to really bother. Kuroo and Kenma didn’t seem to even register the newcomers as wrapped up in each other and Kuroo’s quilt as they were.

Suga slid his hand into the back pocket of Daichi’s jeans and squeezed.

“We’re going to watch a movie!” Daichi yelped out much louder than necessary. His abrupt words finally drew all four sets of eyes to he and Suga (though the silver-blond was too busy to notice as he buried his face into Daichi’s shoulder to muffle his rapid onset of giggles.)

A flush immediately coursed beneath Daichi’s skin and it had absolutely nothing to do with how Suga had been feeling him up in the hallway. His gaze moved between Bokuto and Kuroo waiting for their reaction with bated breath.

Both presented him with agonizingly slow grins, but Kuroo was the one to speak. “We’ll be sure to knock this time,” he replied in a surprisingly even voice. But it was the creeping of his smirk up one side of his face that gave him away. “Enjoy the show.”

It was lucky for Daichi’s heart that he missed the wink thrown their way as Suga impatiently pulled him up the stairs and into his bedroom slamming the door behind them.


	8. Matsuhana: 41. "Sometimes I just can't control myself when around you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Matsuhana, background Iwaoi  
> Rating: M  
> Prompt: #41  
> Requested by: Anonymous

“Of all the seats in this giant-ass lecture hall-” Hanamaki’s eyes fell over the sweeping rows of plastic swing-out chairs lining the white laminate counter (a poor excuse for a desk, but who took legible notes anyways?) until they finally, with a show of over-exaggerated pain, landed on the face of one Matsukawa Issei. “-you just had to sit next to _me_ , didn’t you?”

“You’re awfully sour this morning,” Matsukawa commented blandly, pointedly ignoring the other man’s misplaced strife. “Were Iwaizumi and Oikawa at it again last night?”

It was common knowledge (campus-wide) that Iwaizumi Hajime and Oikawa Tooru were always ‘at it again.’ Of course, occasionally the implication was not always the obvious; ‘at it again’ could mean a myriad of things. For this particular couple, however, it meant exactly _two_ possibilities: arguing or sex.

Hanamaki let out a loud groan that became muffled part-way through as his face landed heavy against the sleeves of his pullover, arms curled over the table in front of them. “I need a new roommate.”

“You should’ve requested me,” Matsukawa responded, voice lower now and with the faintest edge of something wry coming through. “My room’s always quiet.”

With a rush of air from his lungs Hanamaki pushed up to meet the other with a powerful scowl. “That’s because Iwaizumi is always over at _my_ dorm!”

“Oh,” Matsukawa said, giving a thoughtful look that had Hanamaki’s fingers clenching over his too-long cuffs. “I guess that’s true.”

“You’re an asshole,” Hanamaki grumbled before tumbling back to his sulking position. “The walls aren’t that thick, I’m sure you hear it too.”

Matsukawa pointed to his ears. “Heavy sleeper,” he explained shortly. “You don’t actually stay in the room and watch do you?”

“When they fight or when they fuck?” Hanamaki turned slightly to observe the other from a sideways vantage point. He didn’t allow time for an answer and instead continued, “Let’s just say the library has become a good friend this semester, a close second to the floor lounge.”

Matsukawa twirled a pen between his fingers. “You know you can always come knock on my door. There’s usually a free bed.”

Hanamaki actually scoffed. “And have those two bang it out with only a thin layer of plaster between us?” He shook his head, shivering at the thought. “It’s a nice offer, but I think I’ll continue taking my chances on the couch.”

“Suit yourself.” Matsukawa shrugged one broad shoulder and just as their professor made his way towards the podium he leaned in closer to Hanamaki, voice now just a whisper, “You know, one time I came home from studying late and found a girl from 13B riding tall-guy from 19A on that very couch. I guess you’ll be a part of it’s sordid history, Hiro.”

Trying his best to hold down the disgust he felt rising in his gut, Hanamaki turned with a quiet, disbelieving hiss. “I really hate you sometimes, you know that?”

* * *

 

As it turned out, _I really hate you sometimes_ turned quickly into _I really hate you all the time_ as the week wore on.

“You want to cuddle too, Hiro?” Matsukawa whispered into his ear, forcing Hanamaki to flinch away from him with a grumble and a glare towards a very red-faced Iwaizumi and giddy Oikawa sitting much-too-close across the table from them.

“I can’t believe you’re letting him do that,” he muttered, catching the narrowing eyes of Iwaizumi.

In turn, Iwaizumi grunted but did not bother to push away the teasing little nuzzle against his neck from the man practically sitting in his lap. “I’ve had to make some concessions.”

“PDA is a concession?” Matsukawa chuckled softly. “The sex must be _really_ fantastic.”

Habitually, Hanamaki found his hand swiping at Matsukawa’s shoulder sharply. “Do we have to talk about this over dinner?”

At that Oikawa turned from his boyfriend to fit Hanamaki with an ugly pout. “What happened to teasing, sarcastic Makki?” he asked with a huff. “I liked him much better than bitter Makki.”

“Listen to yourself,” Iwaizumi said, finally pushing the man off of him and back into his own chair. “A few months ago you would have given your right arm for them to quit poking fun at you.”

“I’m still poking fun,” Matsukawa supplied helpfully. “And I don’t accept pay-offs in the form of appendages I already own.”

“At least you’re reliable Mattsun,” Oikawa said, a little crestfallen. “I never see my roommate anymore- Makki-chan, why are you so unsociable?”

The scowl Hanamaki produced could have cut through steel and by the way Oikawa literally flinched backwards at the impact, he knew it had to be one of his worst ever. However, instead of letting every word he’d built up in his head on the matter at hand fly loose from his mouth, he let out a gravely sigh and said simply, “I’m tired.”

“Tired?” Oikawa’s voice was hesitant, his body moving a fraction to the left into the natural cover of Iwaizumi’s shoulder.

Matsukawa noisily slurped at his noodles before entering his two sense. “The two of you fu-” but the solid elbow to his side cut off his words in one go, instead turning the sentence into a coughing, garbled mess.

Hanamaki, now more than frustrated but unsure just who to use as his outlet, turned back to the couple with a forced smile (that by the expressions of Iwaizumi and Oikawa must have been pretty frightening). “Classes fucking suck this semester,” he said, effectively ending the conversation.

He missed the sidelong glance from Matsukawa and the somewhat knowing looks Iwaizumi and Oikawa shared from across the table.

* * *

 

“Makki, please just let me set you up!” Oikawa squealed. “Just once! It’ll be fun, I promise. And the guy’s gorgeous- who knows, maybe you’ll finally get laid!”

Hanamaki threw him an incredulous stare. “No,” he said for the tenth time, his voice hollow.

There came a knock on the door that interrupted their very one-sided argument and then Iwaizumi was walking in, not bothering to wait for an answer. “Am I interrupting?”

“Nope, just leaving,” Hanamaki said in a rush, the familiar line nearly tattooed on his tongue at this point. He brushed past Iwaizumi with a faint nod and pointedly ignored Oikawa’s call of, “It’s for your own good Makki!!” as the door slammed shut behind him.

He was just making his way past the neighboring dorm when a hand snaked out of the partially open doorway and grabbed at his arm, pulling. With a startled yelp Hanamaki stumbled across the threshold and into the steady frame connected to the offending hand, head tilting until his eyes met the half-lidded ones of Matsukawa smirking down at him.

There was a moment where neither of them moved from their tangled position. Too-late did Hanamaki realize that in his stumble he’d reached out and fitted hands against a steadying chest that suddenly felt much too-hard and inviting beneath his palms.

Flinching back, he tried to hide the flush burning against his cheeks with a frown. “What the fuck?” he spit out as Matsukawa closed his door to regard him with a slightly more pronounced smirk than before.

“I think I might’ve figured out a solution to your little sleeping problem,” he said.

Hanamaki quirked a curious brow. “Sleeping problem?” He hitched his thumb towards the wall their dorms shared. “You mean the sex circus?”

“That’s terrible,” Matsukawa chuckled.

“Whatever the fuck you want to call it,” Hanamaki groaned, fainting quite dramatically backwards onto Matsukawa’s unmade bed. “I don’t really care anymore.”

With his eyes shut he didn’t see Matsukawa move towards him, but then there was weight pushing down on the mattress beside him and he cracked open his lids to spy the other man hovering above him. “What’s your grand solution?” Hanamaki wondered quietly.

Slowly, too-slowly, Matsukawa leaned forward, his mouth coming within inches of Hanamki’s own and sending a powerful shiver down his spine. “We’ll beat them to the punch,” Mastukawa whispered before a tongue flicked out to wet his lower lip. “Wanna have sex, Hiro?”

With an impulsive wave of both terror and unprecedented arousal Hanamaki found himself sitting up with a flinch, but Matsukawa was not quick enough to dodge and the end result was a painful and embarrassing knock of skull against skull.

“Shit,” Matsukawa muttered, pulling back and rubbing at his forehead. “Eager, huh?” he laughed in a poor attempt at lightening the mood.

“Are you crazy?” Hanamaki hissed, blinking awkwardly to flush away the annoying colors and dots dancing across his vision.

Matsukawa snorted. “I didn’t mean actually have sex,” he explained, still rubbing at his head. “Fake it, exaggerate it, give them a taste of their own medicine.”

Feeling that flush from earlier rise once more across his skin, Hanamaki swallowed. “Oh,” he said. “You could have opened with that, you know.”

“And miss this fun interaction?” Matsukawa threw back almost instantly, a knowing smile creeping back onto his lips. Hanamaki didn’t dare break their eye contact.

“Yeah, well-” he stumbled. “That’s actually a good plan, I guess.”

“Thanks,” Matsukawa grinned. “I came up with it all on my own.”

“A regular mastermind,” Hanamaki said, adjusting his position on the bed to make a little more space for the other body.

“You’re too kind, Hiro.” Matsukawa shuffled closer, making Hanamaki’s attempts to extend the gap between them moot.

“So,” he said, feeling his tongue sticking to the inside of his mouth uncomfortably. “How exactly do we go about doing this?”

In answer, Matsukawa reached past him to wrap his hand around the square pillar of the bed’s wooden frame, the one closest to the wall separating them from where Oikawa and Iwaizumi were currently being suspiciously silent. After a second of contemplation he flexed experimentally, pushing the frame into the wall with a solid thud. The bed frame squeaked. He did it again and turned to Hanamaki with a thick, raised brow.

As it turned out, the rhythm was not hard to recreate. Actually, what turned out to be the hardest part was keeping his laughter in check as the squeaking of the bed beneath them became more and more pronounced and Matsukawa’s smile kept growing wider.

For a second Hanamaki thought he could hear familiar voices coming thinly through the wall next to them, but then his gut turned to ice as a very unfamiliar, but shiver-inducing moan rumbled up from Matsukawa’s throat.

“What the fuck-” but he was cut off as Matsukawa threw a leg over his hips and gave him a very pointed look before panting out (a bit too loudly), “Right there, Makki-” he gasped for extra effect, his voice already graveling and totally unbelievable. “-don’t stop!”

Then Matsukawa was biting against his lip in an obvious fight against the laughter that was threatening to spill out of him. Hanamaki stared up at him with saucer eyes before, with a sudden burst of adrenaline and ambition, he let out a very breathless moan of his own followed shortly by a long and drawn out, “Oh, _Isseiiii_.”

Now he was positive that he could hear voices through the wall, that indignant squawk one he knew well only to be anchored by some sort of hissing “sshhhh” that came out much too growly than it was probably meant to be.

He and Matsukawa shared a wide grin and Matsukawa picked up the pace with the bed, slamming it occasionally into the wall for extra emphasis. They went on like this for what felt like forever, longer than it would have probably lasted in reality if the guilty burning in Hanamaki’s gut was any indication. He had half a mind to be embarrassed by the noises and the implications and the way Matsukawa’s body was nearly grinding down on top of his own, but he wasn’t.

That is until Matsukawa’s knee slipped slightly and his hips sunk lower and the contact forced them both to clench and still. A hiss streamed out of Matsukawa’s mouth and Hanamaki groaned, this time the sound very _very_ real.

“Shit, sorry,” Matsukawa breathed out. His eyes drifted downwards and it was then that Hanamaki realized that somewhere between teasing and fake dry-humping they’d both grown strikingly hard.

Hanamaki’s eyes flew back up to Matsukawa’s face in disbelief. His cheeks were pink and ears trimmed in bright red. “Mattsun?” he said, not really intending it to be a question, but adding the inflection at the end through his embarrassment.

That’s when Matsukawa dipped down and brushed their lips together.

Matsukawa pulled back almost immediately. “Sorry,” he panted around the panic. “Sometimes I just can’t control myself when around you.”

“A-are you serious?” Hanamki was out of breath not only from their ridiculous sound effects, but also from the sensation of air rushing from his lungs with Matsukawa’s proximity and that unforeseen kiss.

Adorable- that’s how Matsukawa looked when he grinned sheepishly and averted his gaze. “Well, yeah,” he said, soft, almost not saying the words at all.

Hanamaki reached his hands up to grasp at the back of Matsukawa’s neck, tangling in the low curls hanging there and pulled him back down, this time prepared for the kiss, tongue dipping into Matsukawa’s mouth without hesitation.

They forgot about the plan, the solution, the _pretending_.

That is until there came a pounding on the wall next to them.

“Hey, keep it down over there!” came Iwaizumi’s rumbling (but definitely blushing) voice followed closely by a high pitched cat-call that undoubtably belonged to Oikawa just before he was smothered by either a pillow or an Iwaizumi-style tackle.

“Huh,” Hanamaki breathed out, not having to feign the bliss in his voice anymore. “Your plan might have actually worked, Issei.”

Lips nuzzled against his forehead as Matsukawa smiled. “I had a feeling it would.”


	9. Yakulev: 32. "Is it possible to love too much?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Yakulev  
> Rating: G  
> Prompt: #32  
> Requested by: Anonymous

It was much too early in the morning for this.

Six a.m. on the dot; routine clockwork.

And it was only the third day of training camp.

But the worst thing was that Kuroo had warned him about this. Actually warned him. The smug bastard.

“Yaku-san?” the voice was softer than he was used to hearing it, something faintly comforting about the timidness there, but Yaku pointedly ignored that fact because he didn’t particularly want to venture down that road at six o’clock in the morning.

“Are you awake?” the voice tried again, even more hushed. Yaku attempted to keep his breathing even, his eyelids from clenching. Maybe if he feigned sleep for long enough the annoying presence hovering above him would just _go away_.

It didn’t go away. Much like the previous two mornings. Yaku wasn’t sure why exactly he was surprised by this.

“Yaku-san?” the voice had now risen in volume and there were fingers gently nudging at his shoulder and he could feel the warm breath against the shell of his ear and- _shit_ , it was much _much_ too early for this.

Cracking open an eye he glared up into the wide green ones staring down at him. Lev’s head was tilted to the side observing him with an innocence that Yaku didn’t put much stock in- and if it had been anyone else but this annoying behemoth he might have even thought the look was a little endearing.

His tongue felt stuck in his mouth when he finally worked up enough patient energy to respond. “Lev, _why?_ ” he muttered, fully knowing the answer but hoping his off-putting demeanor might scare the gangly boy off for once.

It didn’t work.

Lev’s head cocked even more. “Kuroo-san said-”

Yes, _yes_ \- Yaku knew exactly what ‘Kuroo-san’ had said and how he ever let that bed-headed menace talk him into extra, early-morning receive practice with one Lev Haiba he still was not entirely certain.

Yaku sat up with a groan, forcing the other back and out of his personal space only to wobble backwards on his crooked haunches. “I know, I _know_!” he hissed out, pawing at the sandiness still clinging to his lashes.

There came an obnoxious shushing sound from somewhere several futons down from them and Yaku had to forcibly restrain himself from throwing his pillow at the smirking mouth he was almost positive the noise had originated from.

It was like pulling teeth- dressing, shooing Lev away when he tried to follow him into the washroom, brushing his teeth, snatching away the volleyball Lev was furiously and noisily pounding against the floor.

There was no one occupying the gym yet, which was both beneficial as well as annoying. Beneficial because then Yaku could instruct ( _attempt_ to instruct) in peace. Annoying because then he was left utterly and absolutely alone with the one person that ruffled him most.

Yaku blinked a few times, trying to focus on his surroundings and the feel of leather beneath his palms. Ruffled was not exactly the best word for how he felt around Lev. Irritated was perhaps a good descriptor, or maybe just simply tired. His head shook back and forth trying to dislodge the unnecessary thoughts.

“Yaku-san?”

His name always sounded different when Lev said it. Maybe it was the boy’s drawn out version of the honorific. Maybe it was the height difference. After several contemplative heartbeats Yaku decided firmly to believe the former.

His eyes flicked to Lev’s wide ones. “Ready?”

Instead of waiting for a reply (he rarely did) Yaku instead tossed the ball in his hands high and with a resounding smack sent it straight towards Lev, watching as the boy’s giant legs bent on instinct as he went in to receive. The ball glanced off his right arm more than necessary, sending it slightly off it’s intended course, but still Yaku was satisfied to admit that Lev was definitely improving.

Yaku caught the ball on the tips of his fingers to set it back towards Lev for another go. They peppered back and forth for a while, a low-key warm up that Yaku knew Lev was partial to considering the ratio of success to failure was much more positive than when it came time for the true receiving drills.

Yaku swiped the back of his hand at the soft grin pulling at his lips with a repressed amount of disgust.

It was odd, he thought as Lev ran after a toss that had gotten away from him, but for some reason this morning felt much more peaceful than the others. And even though Yaku had been so rudely (and purposefully, damn one Kuroo Tetsurou) awakened he still felt a little more ready and refreshed than he had the previous early mornings.

His vision narrowed as he stared after Lev. Huh. There was definitely something different here, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it…

Wait.

“Lev!” Yaku barked, probably too loudly and probably too harshly. Lev looked up, a bit startled. Yaku flicked a tongue against his lips and began again, softer. “Lev. What’s wrong with you this morning? You’re quiet.”

“Does that bother you, Yaku-san?” Lev wondered, just a hint of amusement lilting into his voice as he volleyed the ball gently upwards.

Yaku’s teeth ground with mild embarrassment. “No, I’m not complaining.” He passed it back with ease. “I can hear myself thinking for once.” He almost added ‘ _and that’s a good thing_ ’ but then he realized he really wasn’t positive that it was a good thing considering how out-of-balance his thoughts currently were.

“I guess I’m just tired.” Lev shrugged and did not pay too much attention to the way Yaku continued to stare at him, suspicious. ‘ _Tired_ ‘never seemed to have shown up in Lev’s wheelhouse ever before.

“Something keeping you up?” he wondered aloud as Lev scrambled to receive a short toss. The words poured from his mouth in much the same way he imagined them pouring from Kuroo’s own, smirk and all. He wasn’t quite sure if that was a good thing or not.

The expression Lev shot him was almost pained, however, and for the second of contemplation Yaku actually started to feel bad for even asking. They weren’t really that close, had only known each other for a couple of months really. This was probably none of his business, he should probably have just appreciated the peace and quiet.

“Yaku-san-” Lev punctuated the name with the light smack of leather against his forearms. “Is it possible to love too much?”

Yaku choked on his next intake of air, coughing around nothing and feeling his eyes go wide at the utterly innocent and hopeful look on Lev’s face. A thud echoed throughout the empty gym as the volleyball dropped to the floor, entirely forgotten.

Still staring, Yaku had to to forcibly remind his jaw not to gape. Where in the hell had _that_ come from?

“You- you shouldn’t love to the point of codependency.” The words felt clinical and awkward on his tongue and for a moment Yaku thought that he hadn’t even spoken them aloud. He swallowed and tried to shake some sense back into his mind. “Is that what you mean?” he added hastily.

“Well-” Lev’s teeth gnawed against his lower lips, distractingly. “-I’m not sure.”

He wasn’t sure? When had Lev Haiba ever not been sure about something- _anything_ \- in his entire existence?

“I-I don’t think you can love too much,” Yaku tried to brush off his fluster with level-headedness. It was proving to be an uphill battle. “Unless it becomes an obsession or something,” he rattled off. And then he thought to add, “Is this about volleyball?” Because yes, that _had_ to be it, _right_?

“Mm, well I guess kind of.” Lev looked oddly thoughtful and Yaku felt his stomach start to constrict. “I do love volleyball.”

Love would perhaps be an understatement. Surely volleyball, Yaku could believe, would be something of an obsession. But the ‘ _kind of_ -’ that was the part that had him a bit worried.

Yaku let out a heavy breath, not quite sure where to direct the conversation. “I think you already love volleyball too much,” he said, a frown pulling at his lips. “But that’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

Surprisingly, Lev broke into a wide, sunny grin (which was actually not so surprising considering that was his normal, default setting). “You give the best advice, Yaku-san.”

“Uh, yeah,” Yaku muttered, entirely unceremoniously. His gaze followed Lev as he bent his gangly frame to retrieve the previously forgotten volleyball. There was an odd pinkness to his usually pale skin, especially prominent at the tips of his ears.

Yaku swallowed hard, thought for a moment longer, and then opened his mouth to speak the question residing precariously on the tip of his tongue.

But then there came a loud, obnoxious crowing from somewhere down the hall, echoing into the gymnasium. The infuriatingly talented yet annoying duo from Karasuno, he had no doubt.

Lev turned at the sound and his grin morphed into something a bit different, a bit more put-on. Yaku felt his skin tingle at the sight.

Maybe Lev had been different this morning- hadn’t just been tired, but _different_. Not just been different, but more… _himself?_

Another loud shout rang through the air and this time Yaku recognized it all too well. He felt his lips curl in a snarl and a reprimand formulate in the back of his throat before he could even think. But he caught it just in time and left Lev to his antics for once.

Maybe he was wrong. Probably. _Definitely_.

This was the real Lev, jumping onto the balls of his feet to elongate himself even more in the face of the tiny, raring Hinata. Right?

He contemplated the thought for half-a-second before dodging into an instinctive receive as a rogue volleyball flew straight towards his head. Kageyama was yelling, loudly. Hinata chirping in disdain right back. Lev’s grin was wide and quivering, but he stood there with a type of learned calmness in his demeanor as he observed the other two in all of their overexerted glory.

A cat-like gaze drifted over to him, a bit knowing, but the expression was mostly overshadowed by how much those eyes glowed with contentment in the early streams of sunlight filtering through the gym’s high-placed windows. Huh. That was something.

Maybe he could learn to like these early morning receive practices after all.

Maybe even a little too much.


	10. Iwaoi: 4. "Sometimes I just can't control myself when around you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: iwaoi  
> Rating: E  
> Prompt: #41  
> Requested by: kenmasan

It only happened on very special occasions. Not usually occasions of celebration or once a year holidays. But on the rare times where it had been perhaps weeks without the touch of another human being, weeks without any real release. The times when business trips and long hours and infuriatingly convoluted projects kept him from a routine he’d grown somehow entirely accustomed to since the tender (and completely naive) age of eighteen.

“I won’t fuck you if you’re too loud,” came the whisper from his partner’s mouth- followed shortly by some other litany of rough, gratuitous, dirty words that would spill around smirking lips trailing down the back of an already tensed neck.

Oikawa would know instantly that it was a very special occasion when he didn’t find himself wrenched around, flipped on his stomach, and taken right then and there. Iwaizumi’s strength was tested by those filthy words, the slick tongue and vicious teeth. But tonight he would allow it, allow his body to sink back into the warm hold and allow those hands to rove and tease. Soon he would be able to do little about it, but his decision had already been made and by the way Oikawa’s lips were quirking against his skin he  _knew_. He definitely knew.

When Oikawa pulled away suddenly Iwaizumi felt a chill run up his spine, light fingers dancing across his broad shoulders, the pads tickling against his bare skin. Oikawa was in front of him then, using that tiny bit of height to look down into Iwaizumi’s face with sharp eyes; shiver-inducing.

He twined a hand with Iwaizumi’s and tugged, gently stepping backwards towards the pristinely made bed, never breaking their gaze, so intense it nearly made Iwaizumi stumble.

Oikawa’s knees knocked against the bed frame and he paused to stare down at the slacks still clinging to Iwaizumi’s legs. Swift work was made of his belt, the pants and boxers following shortly, meeting the same fate as his shirt that had been abandoned somewhere between the bedroom and the front door.

The air was cool and unforgiving against a hardness that Oikawa was studying with a terrifying amount of appreciation.

He leaned forward, still fully clothed. A tongue curled around the shell of Iwaizumi’s ear, a telltale groan emanating from the back of his throat, muscles clenching beneath the man’s tentative touch, but Oikawa held him steady with firms hands moving to his jawline, forcing their lips together for a velvet kiss.

Oikawa pulled back an inch, voice purring. “You’re being awfully noisy. Maybe we should stop?”

Iwaizumi tried to lean in. “No,” he growled out, hips bucking forward.

Hands fell at the movement, grasping the sharp bones there tightly. Iwaizumi breathed out, flinching against the powerful touch. “Someone’s impatient,” Oikawa whispered, half-lidded.

“ _Tooru._ ” The name was a plea as much as an endearment against his tongue and Iwaizumi felt his cheeks burn with the fact.

Oikawa’s eyes flashed and his lips quirked upwards, feral. He slid to his knees and Iwaizumi’s breath caught in his throat at the sight.

His voice was rough when he next spoke. “I thought-”

Long, elegant fingers roved across his skin, spreading until they were grasping his backside, squeezing the muscle and flesh there and forcing a moan from Iwaizumi that cleared all coherent thought from his mind.

“We’ll get to that,” Oikawa mouthed against his thigh, lips scalding. A finger traced across Iwaizumi’s tailbone, teasing. His eyes squeezed shut at the insinuation. “But first-” the sound of Oikawa’s voice forced them back open, tilting his head to meet the wide brown ones staring up at him. A tongue flicked out against Oikawa’s lower lip and Iwaizumi felt his knees start to buckle.

Oikawa’s lips were full and wet, entirely kiss-red and devastating when they first fluttered along the head of Iwaizumi’s cock.

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi bit out again, though this time it was more a reprimand than anything else.

Head tilting upwards again, Oikawa met him with a slick smile. “Sorry, Iwa-chan,” he murmured, without an ounce of true remorse anywhere in his tone. “Sometimes I just can’t control myself when around you.”

Iwaizumi didn’t have time to fully process the unnecessary apology before Oikawa’s mouth went to work on something other than filling his mind with filthy, heart-wrenching words.

But when a wandering finger made its way to his ass, teasing against the ring of muscle there, and Oikawa pulled back to watch for the reaction from above the only coherent words Iwaizumi could manage came pouring out in a single, rushed hiss of pleasure.

“ _Missed you,_ ” he gasped, not allowing himself to break their gaze.

“I know,” Oikawa said, lashes dipping against flushed cheeks. “I missed you too.”


	11. Daisuga: 40. "You look incredible in that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Daisuga  
> Rating: T   
> Prompt: #40  
> Requested by: Anonymous

Suga felt silly. He shouldn’t have, seeing as how this was two of his closest friends most very important day. And normally he didn’t even care what he was wearing or really how he looked. But this was altogether different. He definitely felt silly  _and_  a bit stupid and no one could try and tell him otherwise.

“You look incredible in that.”

“Hey, don’t patronize me,” he snapped out at Daichi, lower lip jutting out as he flicked a hand between the two of them. “Besides you’re wearing the exact same thing.”

Daichi’s gaze dropped down to regard himself; petal pink slacks, periwinkle suspenders, yellow gingham bowtie and all.

“I’m not being patronizing, Suga.” His eyes flicked back up and with them came a faint flush settling across his nose and cheeks and all the way to the tips of his ears. “I’m serious. You look hot.”

Suga felt his own cheeks warming over. He knew that telltale blush well. His eyes narrowed but his tongue felt a bit twisted. “How- but you-” he let out a ragged breath. “- hot, huh? You really think so?”

“Definitely.” There was something in Daichi’s voice, in the way his shoulders seemed to tense and his eyes roved over Suga’s form appreciatively that made Suga’s skin shutter beneath the layers of (Nishinoya approved) fabric.

Daichi took a step forward, his smile soft but his vision roaming over their surroundings a bit too suspiciously. “How much time do we have before the ceremony?” he wondered, tone casual.

Suga felt a breath catch in his throat and he wanted desperately to loosen the horrendous little checked bow now seeming to suffocate him in more ways than one. “We’ve got to be in place at 3:45,” he said around a squeak.

Without warning Daichi reached out and clamped fingers around Suga’s hips, pulling him against his chest. Suga fumbled, off-balance and ended up gripping onto the other man’s entirely unfair biceps just to keep himself from tripping.

“ _Daichi_ ,” Suga warned with a hiss, but Daichi’s hands did not relinquish their grip, instead only pulled him closer until he was able to trail soft lips across the patch of skin beneath Suga’s right ear.

“What?” Daichi muttered, the word vibrating against flushing skin. “Suddenly shy, Suga?”

In Suga’s mind, as lips and teeth nipped at the sensitive skin of his neck, all he could picture were the remnants of pink pants and flashes of green and yellow and white landing somewhere in between.

“Okay,” he muttered, feeling Daichi’s chuckle vibrate against his collarbone. “But we are  _not_  having sex in these ridiculous clothes.”

Fingers reached up to lift Suga’s jaw upwards until he could meet dark brown eyes, half-lidded and sharp. “Leave the bow-tie on,” Daichi said, voice rumbling into Suga’s ears unapologetically.

Suga had to fight back the whimper that rose in his throat. He swallowed once then leaned in to brush a peck against Daichi’s lower lip. The tie still felt tight around his neck, but somehow much less silly than before.

“Alright,” he conceded. “But only for you.”

* * *

 

* * *

When Suga got home he found Daichi standing in their kitchen, perhaps preparing dinner or washing dishes or something that would be expected of one standing in a kitchen, but Suga could not bring himself to pay attention to any of that because he was suddenly very,  _very_  distracted.

“Daichi?”

“What?”

“Is-” Suga closed his mouth and swallowed hard in order to get all the words out. “Is that my shirt?”

Daichi’s gaze tipped down towards his chest, the faintest of blushes appearing at the tips of his ears as his brows furrowed adorably over eyes that moved slowly back upwards to catch Suga’s own. “Um- I was doing laundry earlier, but I sort of forgot to put things in the dryer until a few minutes before you got home. All my shirts are still wet.”

“ _All_  of them?” Suga wondered, no amount of hesitation as he watched Daichi begin to actually fumble beneath his curios gaze.

“Well, mostly all of them,” Daichi said, eyes flicking to study the apparently fascinating countertop in front of him. “I still have a couple of old volleyball shirts, but they’re a bit grungy and-”

“And you wanted to wear one of mine instead,” Suga supplied, his mouth twitching at the edges as he cocked his head a bit to regard Daichi with a too-sweet smile. “It’s okay, Daichi. I don’t mind.”

“ _Suga_ ,” the name sounded almost painful coming from Daichi’s throat. His blush was in full bloom across the bridge of his nose, meandering down the planes of his neck and Suga felt his lips suddenly aching to taste it.

“I said I don’t mind.” Suga’s tone dipped low in his throat and his smile grew feral. “In fact, Daichi, you look incredible in that.”

Incredible was, perhaps, an understatement. There was nothing exceptionally amazing about the shirt itself (powder blue and a bit threadbare with a faded image of a shrimp…) but the way it was clinging to Daichi’s arms and chest, the way it was just the slightest bit too small for him, the way Daichi’s blush was growing stronger by the second- Suga wasn’t entirely certain he would be able to keep breathing.  

“Um-” Daichi muttered. “Suga?”

With a blink Suga’s body sprang forward, taking the necessary steps in order to wrap arms around Daichi’s neck and pull him into a kiss. They were both flustered (for their own reasons) but after the first few pecks and a swipe of Suga’s tongue against Daichi’s lower lip he felt hands come to rest against his lower back, holding him close.

When they pulled back Suga’s fingers meandered across Daichi’s neck, causing the man the shiver at the touch, and down across the planes of his chest and abdomen until they reached the shirt’s hem that sat just barely hiding the tan line of skin above his running shorts.

“You look incredible in that,” Suga said again, his lips quirking into a smile as they brushed lightly against Daichi’s jaw. “But it would look even better on the floor, don’t you think?”


	12. Daisuga: "Okay wait. Can we stop joking around like we'd ever actually date? It's really starting to hurt..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Daisuga  
> Rating: G  
> Requested by: bisasam

Daichi wasn’t sure where or when or how. He wasn’t at all confident in the why either. But one thing he did know for certain was that this whole running joke thing that  _certain_  (which really meant  _all_  by association) members of the team had taken up as of late was definitely beginning to wear on his nerves.

It wasn’t that things often wore on him; in fact (in Daichi’s personal opinion) he had a pretty good threshold for bullshit and other things of that exasperating nature. Of course certain exceptions had to be taken into account here- like Hinata and Kageyama’s near constant bickering, or Tanaka’s asinine intimidation tactics, or (and perhaps most especially) Suga’s incredibly skilled penchant for making Daichi fluster.

But overall, Daichi considered himself to be a pretty nice guy.

“HEY! Stop yelling already over there or you’ll be doing diving receives for the duration of practice!” 

The words had been thrown out across the gymnasium in that deep, booming authoritative voice that Daichi knew would effect even that of a quietly snarking Tsukkishima. He huffed out a satisfied breath as he watched a quavering Hinata tugging at Kageyama’s shirt sleeve with vigor and Tanaka’s newfound look of innocence as he turned slightly away from the most likely provoking blond.

“Daichi-“ his name was spoken through a trill of familiar laughter that had his muscles tensing before easing slightly as a firm, familiar hand came to rest at his shoulder. “-that little vein in your forehead is back.”

_And_  there went any hopes of relaxing. Daichi turned his gaze to fit Suga with a scowl. “That’s really not helping right now,” he muttered through a tight jaw.

“Don’t stress out,” Suga leaned in further as he spoke, fitting Daichi with a genuine smile. “Practice is almost over.”

Daichi took a deep breath, beginning to feel the pent up tension easing out of his neck and shoulders, when a loud voice echoed out across the gym straight for them.

“Suga-san to the rescue!” Nishinoya shouted through hands cupping around his grinning mouth.

Tanaka, in turn, gave a resounding chuckle before adding (quite bravely), “Give him a kiss! That’ll tame the beast!”

Daichi’s fingers clenched into fists, but he did nothing other than fit the two with a very even stare (hopefully one of his more frightening ones) before Tanaka and Noya were backing up slowly only to bump into an increasingly nervous looking Asahi.

And that was the extent of the running joke.

The idea being that he and Suga together often came across as a couple ( _‘old married couple’_ according to one unapologetic Ennoshita Chikara-  _that_  realization having stung Daichi most of all) minus the gender roles and stereotypes, of course.

But he and Suga  _weren’t_  dating. Had  _never_  been on a date together,  _ever_. So what on earth gave off the impression of coupledom to everyone in their general vicinity? (And beyond, because Daichi certainly hated to remember all of the insinuations and jabs a certain bed-headed Nekoma captain had graced them with during their time spent in Tokyo.)

However, Suga wasn’t exactly helping either.

For example, currently he was curling fingers around Daichi’s arm to hang on him, his smile widening to accommodate some new laughter at Tanaka and Noya’s latest of antics. In the past it had been things such as pet names and puns (no, he did  _not_  think Suga was especially sweet- even if the statement brought an immense blush to his cheeks at the time). On occasion the joke involved Suga’s seemingly magical ability to calm the captain down, like in this certain case. But rarely did it involve mention of PDA (real or not real, the idea had Daichi’s throat constricting just at the thought).

No, he did  _not_  have a crush on one Sugawara Koushi. He just didn’t think the joke was very funny. No, certainly  _not_  funny at all.

Daichi swallowed before he caught Suga’s gaze, looking just a bit too dreamy for his taste, before he tried to pry those grabby hands off of him.

“Get a room!” Someone shouted from behind.

A sharp, whistling cat-call sounded shortly after that.

Suga’s grip and laughter only strengthened as Daichi’s composure slowly began to melt.

“Okay wait. Can we stop joking around like we’d ever actually date? It’s really starting to hurt…”

That managed to snap Suga back to reality, his fingers flinching from Daichi’s skin like they’d been suddenly burnt by the touch.

Daichi’s tongue felt swollen in his mouth. “I-I didn’t mean-“ he watched Suga watching him, that hazel-eyed expression unreadable. What  _did_  he mean? Daichi wasn’t even sure himself.

He opened his mouth again to speak, but was cut off as a fist came flying at him, straight into his sternum and consequently knocking the wind from his lungs.

“Go out with me!”

Daichi looked up, gasping, to find Suga stood there with hands on his hips and a wide, determined grin pulling at his lips.

“What?” he managed to wheeze out.

“You heard me!” Suga’s eyes scrunched and wrinkled at the edges with the width of his smile.

Daichi’s own gaze darted about the gym, but it seemed the only extra attention this little display was garnering was that of some scattered teammates trying hard to look as though they weren’t there witnessing and eavesdropping on what should probably have been a private conversation. In fact, everyone around them looked much more startled and nervous about Suga’s abrupt offer than Daichi’s earlier angry threats.

Turning back to Suga, Daichi reached up to scratch at his cheek a bit anxiously. “You don’t have to-“

“Daichi, are you really going to turn me down?” Suga fit him with an overly sad gaze, his bottom lip even jutting out a bit to prove his point. But his eyes were filled with a knowing sort of fire. That look- it was too much and not enough all at once.

Clearing his throat, Daichi shook his head. Suga’s face brightened instantly. “Good,” he whispered. “We didn’t mean for it to hurt you. But we thought maybe you’d take the hint a lot sooner than you did.” With that he added a little wink and latched back onto Daichi’s arm with fervor.

Daichi felt a flush blooming all the way to the tips of his ears. He didn’t want his team getting the wrong idea when it came to pranks and bullshit and goofing-off, but he thought that perhaps he’d let this particular running joke slide- but only just this once.

He looked to Suga with a startled smile and let himself finally relax. After all, he was a pretty nice guy, right?


	13. Iwaoi: "Is this the same store you don't go to anymore because you said 'i love you' to the cashier?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Iwaoi  
> Rating: G  
> Requested by: Anonymous

“Is this the same store you don’t go to anymore because you said ‘I love you’ to the cashier?”

Of all the people Oikawa would expect to ask such a direct (and consequently directly  _embarrassing_ ) question right out of the blue, it being Iwaizumi Hajime came as something of a surprise.

It probably shouldn’t have come as a surprise seeing as how their shopping companions for the afternoon (damn them and their purposeful third and fourth wheel aspirations) happened to be the couple unapologetically holding hands several strides behind and sharing knowing smirks that Oikawa had half a mind to wipe from their stupid faces.

He did not, however, end up resorting to such violence. Mostly because he knew Iwaizumi would immediately stop him and also mostly because, unfortunately, the answer to Iwaizumi’s very surprising question was invariably  _yes_.            

“How do you know about that?” Oikawa hissed as the sliding doors swished shut behind them. It was probably a dumb and quite unnecessary inquiry if Matsukawa and Hanamaki’s muffled snickers had anything to say about it.

Iwaizumi turned to him with a pointed look, raising a brow sharply as Oikawa muttered, “Traitors,” under his breath.

“Do you want to leave?” Iwaizumi wondered, the picture of genuine concern. Oikawa had to remind himself  _not_  to swoon.

“No, no.” He waved his hand in the air in some semblance of nonchalance even if his gut was suddenly twisting in anticipation. “You need new knee-pads, Iwa-chan, so we’re going to shop for new knee-pads.”

Silence followed as Iwaizumi studied him with an unimpressed sort of stare, but (perhaps in light of his actual need to purchase new knee-pads) he broke their gaze first and headed in the direction of the shop’s volleyball equipment.

As the group navigated past racks of running gear and precariously stacked displays of tennis balls Oikawa could hear the definite sounds of whispered conversation and stifled laughter in his rearview, but when he looked over his shoulder with an upturned nose and powerful glare he was met only with the sight of Hanamaki clinging to Matsukawa’s arm and glancing up at him in a sort of affectionate way that made Oikawa’s teeth ache.

Normally such a thing probably wouldn’t have bothered him, but maybe it was Hanamaki’s near constant defense that he and Mattsun ‘ _weren’t even dating’_  (even when,  _clearly Makki you definitely_ _are_ ) or the fact that, deep down somewhere in his chest, Oikawa was a little envious. But probably it mostly had to do with the fact that these two so-called friends had witnessed one of his Top Ten Most Embarrassing Moments and were now potentially trying to use it against him-  _in front of Iwa-chan_ \- how rude!

They’d finally made it to the knee-pads which Oikawa was grateful for because that meant they were one step closer to getting the hell out of here before they stumbled across the poor ( _not_  handsome,  _definitely not_  handsome at all) cashier from a few weeks ago.

He knew he should have never gone anywhere with Thing 1 and Thing 2 without Iwaizumi there to at least  _pretend_  to protect his dignity.

Iwaizumi was studying a pair of black knee-pads that looked almost completely identical to all of the other knee-pads on the display. He didn’t even bother to look up when he finally said, “How does that work? Saying ‘I love you’ to a stranger.”

Affronted, Oikawa let out an undignified squawk and didn’t even bother to scowl at the now openly laughing couple hovering behind them. His eyes narrowed but Iwaizumi still wasn’t looking at him. “For your information, it was strictly an accident, Iwa-chan.”

“Does that happen to you often?” Iwaizumi’s fingers clenched around the pads, nodding his head as if agreeing with his own internal decision.

“It just slipped out,” Oikawa huffed.

“That sounds like an opportunity for a dirty joke,” Matsukawa said, all monotone and utterly serious. He wasn’t exactly phased by the scowl thrown his way, but Hanamaki seemed to be enjoying the possible invitation to banter.

“It was in passing as I was leaving.” Oikawa returned his attention back to Iwaizumi as they headed for the registers. “And I didn’t say ‘ _I_  love you,’ I just said ‘love you.’ There’s a difference.”

“There isn’t,” Hanamaki interjected from behind.

Iwaizumi was frowning but he didn’t look angry. “An accident,” he said as if speaking it aloud would make it sound more acceptable to his ears.

Oikawa turned to him with a crooked look. Why was he so interested in this if not to simply make fun of him?

“It was like when I say it to you when we walk home-” Oikawa’s throat suddenly felt a little tight, which was odd because this was the upmost truth of the matter. “-when I say ‘goodnight, Iwa-chan, love you.’”

“Good morning, Iwa-chan,  _love you,”_  Hanamaki crooned from somewhere behind them.

“Have a good day, Iwa-chan,  _love you,”_  came Matsukawa’s own interjection.

“Won’t you share some of your milk-bread, Iwa-chan,  _love you!”_

“Nice kill, Iwa-chan,  _love you!”_

“Okay, we get it!” Oikawa rounded on them with a snarl, but Iwaizumi (instinctually) already had his hand up to smack against the back of Oikawa’s skull.

“It’s habit,” Iwaizumi said as Oikawa turned back around rubbing at his head and beginning to sulk.

He nodded his agreement as they reached the register eyes dropping low as he followed Iwaizumi’s feet right up to the counter. He wasn’t sure why (and knew he would regret thinking this come later) but for some reason he wished Iwaizumi would just laugh at him already and stop being so damn complacent!

“Oikawa?” a voice addressed him, one that definitely did not belong to any of his current shopping companions.

When Oikawa looked up he was met with sharp, olive eyes and a stare so intense it nearly made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It was, undoubtedly, the ( _not_  handsome) cashier he’d made a total and complete fool of himself in front of.  And currently he seemed to be staring right  _through_  him.

“Um, h-hi,” he stuttered out in return silently kicking himself because  _why_  was he nervous and  _why_  was this guy staring at him like that anyways?

Iwaizumi gave him a sidelong glance as he reached for his wallet, eyes blown a little wide at the way Oikawa’s lips were quivering a bit under all the sudden attention.

Oikawa swallowed and then rubbed a finger against his cheek, averting his eyes but unable to quite scrape the feeling of being watched by two very powerful gazes at once.

As soon as Iwaizumi’s transaction was complete Oikawa was spinning on his heel and pushing past his now very curious looking friends and towards the exit as fast as possible.

But not quite fast enough it seemed as following after him came a deep, resounding, “Good to see you again, Oikawa.”

He looked back, not to study the cashier’s tanned features masked in a light blush (no, definitely not) but to seek out Iwaizumi’s suddenly burning scowl with a very soft sigh of relief.  _That_  Iwa-chan he could deal with.

“Looks like you had quite the effect, eh?” Matsukawa shuffled up beside Oikawa to fit him with a sidelong glance as they made their way out of the store.

On his other side Hanamaki smacked lightly at his arm with a wide grin. “Left a pretty big impression, I’d say.”

Behind the trio Iwaizumi’s voice was dark but steady. “We should definitely find a new place to buy our sporting goods from.”

“We tried to tell you,” Hanamaki turned to him with a feigned sort of solemnity.

Oikawa recited those words in his head a few times and re-imagined Iwaizumi’s earlier scowl in vivid technicolor before suddenly stopping dead in his tracks.

“Wait.” Oikawa spun to face him with a smile he hadn’t felt all morning stretching at his lips. “Is Iwa-chan  _jealous?”_

Iwaizumi made a face at Oikawa’s sudden starry-eyed gaze. “Absolutely  _not_ , Shittykawa,” he growled, though maybe with a bit less bite than usual.

Oikawa just beamed anyway reaching out to take a hold of Iwaizumi’s arm and for once not getting smacked away in the process. Iwaizumi’s ears were a bit red and (miracle of miracles) Matsukawa and Hanamaki finally chose to ignore them in favor of their own handholding up ahead.

Iwaizumi didn’t say anything else, but Oikawa knew just the same. Okay, so maybe making a complete and utter fool of himself (in front of the  _definitely not_  handsome cashier) had been well worth it after all.


	14. Daisuga: "It's super annoying that you're so fit because you make me exercise more. How else was I supposed to ogle you?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Daisuga  
> Rating: G  
> Requested by: Anonymous

It wasn’t that Suga minded, really.

He’d always been one to live an active lifestyle, drink plenty of water, eat healthy, go to the gym,  _blah blah blah._

But honestly right now he was  _just so tired_.

He wasn’t sure he was going to be able to keep this up much longer and so therein lied the root of his current anxious stomach and rambling thoughts and-  _dammit_ , why couldn’t his hair just cooperate for once?

 _You’re going to the gym_ , the little cowlick hovering over his forehead cackled,  _you’re just going to get sweaty and gross and that guy doesn’t even know your name so why do you care so much anyways?_

Suga frowned, his eyes straining to cross and glare up at the offending locks before he shook his head to dislodge whatever bizarre delusions his brain was currently cooking up. Did he mention how  _tired_  he was?

It had been a long day. It had been a long  _week_. But now it was Friday and (despite his protesting muscles) he was going to march down those three flights of stairs, walk into that ice-box of a gym with his head held high and shoulders squared if for no other reason than to abuse another poor treadmill and surreptitiously (if his timing was just right) get to appreciate the entirely unfair body belonging to his downstairs neighbor and, consequently, his mortifyingly immature and unwarranted crush.

He was twenty-six. Twenty-six year olds weren’t supposed to have crushes like this. They weren’t supposed to fawn over powerful quads and biceps. They weren’t supposed to imagine being swept off their feet by strong arms and crushed into a bare, glistening chest. They weren’t supposed to get weak in the knees at just the sight of warm, brown eyes and a smile too kind and genuine for this world.

Yet here he was.

The gym was quiet when he entered, not another soul in sight, because most residents were probably busy eating dinner or, you know,  _not_  pining away for a complete and total stranger.

Suga chose his favorite treadmill (the one with the best view of the  _entire_  gym) and pretended not to groan a little as he stretched his calves. It was like clockwork every night, just as his heart rate leveled out and his cheeks felt the tiniest bit flushed, said stranger would make his entrance.

Oh, it was just  _so unfair_.

As per usual the man didn’t pay too much attention to Suga, throwing him a few cursory glances and (on lucky occasions like this one) a friendly grin, which Suga would attempt to return around the nerves making him sweat more profusely than even the workout itself.

The man would always do a round of cardio first, either bike or run on one of the farthest treadmills from Suga’s own and Suga would watch him from the edge of his vision all the while pretending to be doing anything but. 

Today the stranger was wearing these orange shorts that, by all accounts, were  _entirely_  too short and small for those thighs and that ass. But who was Suga to complain? The man could do as he pleased, wear whatever shorts he liked, this was a free country, right?

Suga was in  _so_  much trouble.

It didn’t take long for the man to switch over to weights and Suga was finally hitting his stride, feeling his earlier exhaustion translating into something close to adrenaline (but was it from the workout or from the way those shorts were hugging that tanned skin that Suga just wanted to….)

 _Get a grip!_  Suga shuffled damp bangs from his forehead with a quick shake of his neck. This was normal, this had been the usual routine for what, going on almost an entire week now? The man stretched forward to pick up a pair of dumbbells. Suga should be used to it by now, none of this should affect him so detrimentally anymore-  _but holy shit, look at that ass!_

It wasn’t that Suga was un-athletic by any means, but certain impairing distractions happened to the best of them, didn’t they?

The first thing he felt was a snap of pain run up his left leg, the second being more of a shooting throb through his ankle and foot as he instinctively stepped off the treadmill trying to catch his balance on the grips, the third was his ankle buckling beneath him, and the fourth (perhaps most mortifying) was the slam of his backside hitting the floor as his body forced him to  _sit_  and  _stay_.

 _Do not cry, do not cry, do not cry,_ his mind chanted at him furiously as his hands went to grab at his ankle and survey the damage. Okay so he probably wasn’t going to  _cry_ , but Suga had to bite down hard against his lower lip not to let out a whine of agony.

But then suddenly there was a hand against his shoulder and he couldn’t stop himself from letting out a pained little gasp, turning in surprise to look up into warm, brown eyes staring back at him.

“Are you alright?” the man asked, a picture of concern.

Suga wanted to scream. No, he was not alright! And that had nothing to do with his possibly sprained ankle and the shooting pains at all!

Instead he swallowed and stuttered out, “I-I’m fine.”

The stranger regarded him with a dark, quirked brow. “You don’t look fine. I think your ankle’s already beginning to swell.”

Suga looked down at the offending body part and then back to the man with uncertainty. “I-I guess I sprained it.”

The man frowned. “Do you want me to get you some ice?”

Suga’s head shook furiously, their proximity only just now registering in his brain as very, very  _close_. “No, no. It’s my own fault for being so distracted,” he gasped out, feeling heat rising in his cheeks.

“Distracted?” The man seemed rightfully confused.

Suga licked his lips. Well, in for a penny. “By you,” he said.

This was met with a very wide-eyed look and- was that an actual blush forming? “ _Me?”_

Suga huffed, unable to hold back any longer. Screw it, he was in deep enough now that no amount of backpedalling would save him anyways. “It’s super annoying that you’re so fit because you make me exercise more,” he hissed a bit petulantly. “How else was I supposed to ogle you?”

Yep, that was definitely a blush creeping across the man’s features, dark and stretching across the bridge of his nose and up to the tips of his ears.

“That-” Suga immediately felt his heart in his throat at his impulsive words. “-that’s so embarrassing!” he whined in a full panic now. “I’m so sorry, the pain must have short-circuited my brain or something-”

“Hey, hey, calm down.” The man placed both hands against Suga’s shoulders now, holding him steady. “It’s not  _that_  embarrassing.”

Suga looked up to find the man’s lips quivering a bit. “It’s not?”

“Um, well- no, not really.” He looked incredibly sheepish now and Suga couldn’t quite wipe the smile off his face at the sight. “You’re- you’re not so bad to look at yourself.”

Well, that had been unexpected. Suga’s eyes blew wide. “ _W-what?”_

“I mean, I can’t really say I only come to the gym to see you.” The stranger’s hands hadn’t left his shoulders and Suga could feel a little tremble of anxiety run through them both. “But it certainly doesn’t hurt to get to ogle a little myself. You’re beautiful.”

“Seriously?” Suga’s body jerked in a sudden need to be that much closer to this confession, but his ankle protested wildly in the process. He grimaced. “ _Ow_.”

The man let out a soft chuckle, but his voice was still full of concern. “Maybe we should get you that ice now. Do you think you can walk?”

“I don’t know.” Suga’s eyes clenched shut as he tried to stand. “I’m guessing not.”

“Here, I’ll help.” Suddenly there were strong arms under his own pulling him up and against a firm chest he’d just been daydreaming about mere moments earlier. “You live on the third floor right?”

“Ah, yeah.” Suga’s eyes opened to stare up half-lidded. “You live on the second?”

“Yeah. I mean, I can take you to my apartment if you want-” the man stopped and stumbled over the words pouring out of his mouth. “-less stairs that way, you know?”

Suga smiled. “Okay.”

“Yeah?” He sounded both surprised and ecstatic all at once.

“Yeah.” Suga nodded affirmatively, grin only pulling wider at the sight of the other man’s still red cheeks. “I’m Suga, by the way.”

For his efforts he received a broad smile of his own. “Call me Daichi.”

The stranger ( _Daichi_ ) then hooked Suga’s arm around his neck to hold him up, wrapping his own arm around his waist and still looking just as endearingly giddy as Suga himself felt at the odd (but favorable) outcome of their evening workout.

Huh. Well, if a sprained ankle was all it took, Suga supposed he could get over the pain. With a little help from Daichi, of course.


	15. Daisuga: "I'm sick of you always taking the cat's side in everything!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Daisuga  
> Rating: G  
> Requested by: Anonymous

Patience is a virtue.

That’s what Daichi’s mother always used to tell him when things got a little frustrating, like when he couldn’t quite grasp the concept of geometric proofs or when he loitered in the kitchen while waiting for her famous shoyu ramen to be served.

So it was only natural that patience be a trait Daichi had honed over the years. Captaining the volleyball team in his third year had certainly required patience (and of course an aptitude of just the moments when patience could afford to be lost).  University had also given his patient side a run for its money- who  _actually_  needed trigonometry in real life anyways? Certainly dating and consequently living with his (dare he say it)  _high school sweetheart_  tried his patience occasionally here or there.

But in the end, his patience (and unfortunately his sanity) came to be challenged most impressively by one greatly unprecedented force to be reckoned with.

“Jiji,  _don’t you DARE!”_

His voice echoed impressively across the living room and into the kitchen where, stood upon the center island, a cat black as night contemplated Daichi with its paw hovering over a (stupidly misplaced) cellular phone sat dangerously close to the counter’s edge.

It was Daichi’s fault really, that’s what Suga would say. He shouldn’t have left his phone (already sporting battle scars and a few spidering cracks from the last time the damn furry demon had decided to play hockey with it) in such a precarious spot in the first place. He knew better. The cat was purely innocent. Jiji just wanted some attention.

When his phone hit the floor for the second time that week Daichi wasn’t entirely certain he was going to be able to keep his level-head long enough not to dump the animal onto the fire escape in hopes that maybe it would run off and never, ever return here again.

His fists were curled painfully into his palms and his daydreams of deliberate cat-dad negligence were becoming more and more vivid in his mind when the apartment door opened to reveal a grinning Suga with a bag of takeout dangling from his fingers.

“Um-” Suga hummed as his eyes darted over the scene that lay before him. When he caught sight of Daichi’s poor mobile device laying (thankfully face-up this time) on the tile floor beneath a quietly purring Jiji he couldn’t quite contain the laughter that bubbled up into his throat. “Am I interrupting something?”

Daichi, broken from his incriminating reveries by that honeyed voice and amused tone, flicked his gaze from those round golden orbs of malintent to Suga’s own. He crossed his arms over his chest a bit defiantly. “When it finally breaks, you’re buying me a new phone.”

* * *

 

Jiji- all sleek ebony fur, sharp claws, and knowing eyes- had been a member of their little household for going on nearly a month now. Since then she had taken it upon herself to destroy two of Daichi’s favorite t-shirts, crack his phone to within an inch of its life, leave a rather unfortunate gift-of-dead-mouse upon the living room rug,  _and_ (perhaps the most inexcusable of them all) had managed to wholly win over the heart of one Sugawara Koushi.

Needless to say, Daichi did not have a good relationship with this cat.

He didn’t really want to say that he  _hated_  it-  _but_ -

It was turning into an ongoing battle.

“ _Daichi.”_

He and Suga were lying in bed together ( _finally_ ) after a long and grueling week of work and late-nights and little actual physical contact. Currently his hand was travelling down Suga’s lower back, tickling patterns there and reaching for the waistband of his boxer-briefs and ignoring the man’s feigned admonitions in favor of trailing kisses down his neck.

That is, of course, when the cat decided it would be the _Greatest Idea Ever_  to pounce directly onto Daichi’s head.

With a hiss followed by a very annoyed growl Daichi pulled away from a startled Suga to paw at the intruder, grasping for its tail. But the menace proved to be too quick and agile even for Daichi and, using his shoulder for leverage, jumped onto Suga’s stomach with a nimbleness that her apparent enemy seemed to sorely lack.

Daichi’s fingers curled and his teeth clenched as he lunged forward, but then arms were wrapping themselves around his target, pulling Jiji away and curling the cat into a pale chest, black fur shadowing in harsh contrast.

“Daichi, don’t be mean, she just wants to be included,” Suga pouted (actually pouted), but Daichi wasn’t going to let that effect him this time around like it was often wont to do.

“Suga.” Daichi’s voice was dark as he turned to flop on his back and glare at the ceiling. “I’m sick of you always taking the cat’s side in everything!”

For a moment Daichi thought he might find himself on the receiving end of one of Suga’s not-so-innocent punches or sugar-coated scoldings, but instead it seemed that his outburst had earned him something else entirely.

No, instead Suga was  _laughing_ \- loudly at that. When Daichi turned with surprise he could already see little tears forming at the corners of the other man’s eyes. Jiji, for what it was worth, also looked a bit surprised (and a bit annoyed) by this turn of events, but mostly she still just looked smug from Daichi’s point of view.

“What’s so funny?” Daichi muttered out, turning and flopping on his stomach in order to attempt to hide a rising blush in the crooks of his folded arms.

Suga made a show of placing Jiji down to sit between the two of them (looking a bit frazzled by the sudden move) and wiped at his eyes. “It’s just,” he breathed. “You do realize that you’re jealous of a  _cat_ , Daichi?”

All attempts to hide the blush were now entirely futile. Daichi looked up at Suga with widening eyes. “I am not jealous-”

“ _And_  I think Jiji is a little jealous of you too,” Suga continued, not bothering to listen to Daichi’s failing rebuttal.

Daichi’s brows furrowed. “A cat can’t be jealous,” he mumbled, staring down to study his suddenly fascinating forearms.

Suga let out a soft giggle and the noise had Daichi’s vision meandering upwards again in curiosity. The silver-blond brought a hand beneath Jiji’s torso and lifted, pushing and shuffling the animal closer until she and Daichi were nearly nose-to-nose.

“C’mon,” Suga said sweetly. “Can’t you two at least  _try_  to get along?”

Daichi watched the cat’s eyes start to narrow and the sight caused the little hairs on his neck to stand on end, but before anything violent could occur Suga placed skilled fingers at the top of Jiji’s head to scratch just behind her ears, earning him a very contented sound of purring affirmation.

“Daichi,” Suga whispered, pulling Daichi’s attention again. “Do it for me?”

Backlit by the pink and purple light of a summer sunset Suga stared down at him with an entirely unfair aura flittering around him and that innocent smirk that always managed to send a piercing arrow straight through Daichi’s heart.

He looked back to the cat with a somewhat softer expression ( _broken_ , it was a broken expression) and caught Jiji’s golden eyes staring at him with something that was, for once,  _not_  malevolence.

Well,  _maybe_  they could try. But only for Suga.


End file.
